


A Commander and a Mage

by TheFallenStar



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Age Difference, Betrayal, Blood Mages, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Time, First Time Bottoming, Gang Rape, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Internal Conflict, Lyrium Addiction, Lyrium Withdrawal, M/M, Mages vs. Templars, Minor Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus, Rape Recovery, Transitonal point of view, Younger characters, minor Sera/Harding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2018-07-18 15:20:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 18
Words: 70,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7320559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFallenStar/pseuds/TheFallenStar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Commander Cullen would never forget that day or the face of the boy pulled from the rubble. He knew that his life would change forever, but it was much to his surprise that it was not strictly from the cataclysm at the valley.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Flash of Green

A Flash of Green

            Screams and wails echoed throughout the Valley of Sacred Ashes. The temple, once a proud structure of Andraste’s history and testament, reduced to a smoldering pile of rubble. The Mages and Templars again lashed out at one another under the torn sky. “The Breach”, or so they would come to call it shone brightly, raining demons, and wisps upon the chaos below. Hundreds if not thousands wept as the Divine was pronounced dead. Upon hearing this the denizens of all of Thedas became enraged that the only survivor was a young eighteen-year-old mage that fell out of “The Breach”, and it was rumored that it was by Andraste herself that he was escorted from the hellscape. Commander Cullen would never forget that day or the face of the boy pulled from the rubble. He knew that his life would change forever, but it was much to his surprise that it was not strictly from the cataclysm at the valley.

            Cullen looked onward as his men helped the body of the unconscious boy on to a tarp to carry him back to Haven. He caught a glimpse of his feature soft in the green haze spread over the ruin. The boy’s hair a light brown, shaved short on the sides and left long on the top. A small vine dragon tattooed in deep purple ink around his right eye. His face twisted and relaxed in his sleep, and Cullen wondered to himself how such a young boy made it through all of this calamity.

            “Commander Cullen,” called a voice, Cullen turned to reveal a companion of his Leliana.

            Leliana spoke plainly eyeing the boy somberly, “Cassandra wants to see the boy and she is in a rage still. She’s taking the Divine’s death very hard.”

            “I am aware,” deadpanned Cullen and turned to his army, “Men, take the boy to Haven quickly and have Solas tend to him, the lady Seeker will want to question him thoroughly.

            The men jogged off carrying the boy and Cullen prayed to the maker that things ended well for him. He resigned himself to never seeing him again and he drew his sword. The blade gleamed in the sickly glow of “The Breach” and he moved forward to address the remaining men.

            “Men, hold your ground and take no quarter we cannot afford to lose any more ground.”

The troops roared and raised shield, spear, and sword, charging forward they took position as the first of the creatures of the Fade came over the ridge and towards their ranks. The final thoughts of Cullen’s mind before the clash were a prayer for “The Breach” to be closed and that of the mysterious young boy’s safety.

…

Connor snapped awake a burning sensation echoed up his left arm, as if all of his nerves were ablaze with fire. Looking down he saw a glowing green scar across his palm. A flash of light burst in the backs of his eyes and he screamed.

            “Finally awake,” snapped a firm voice.

            “What’s going on, where am I.”

            “What was your involvement at the explosion at the conclave,” the voice rang out again. Emerging from the shadows was a young woman who could be no more than in her late twenties. Her features were sharp, and her face had two thin scars on either side of her chin. Her dark black hair cut short and cropped, she was some sort of military.

            Their exchange continued until she had him release from his chains and escorted outside there he saw the source of everyone’s worries. There was a large rift that was growing across the frozen sky. With each pulse of growth his hand throbbed even more.

            “Listen, I swear on the Maker I don’t know what happened, but I promise if there is anything I can do to help I will do it. Please,” Connor begged.

Cassandra acknowledge the boy’s earnest behest and allowed him to accompany her to her battalion farther up towards the ruin. As they ascended a large mass fell from “The Breach” onto the bridge they were crossing, sprawling them on the frozen ground below. Two demons arose from the coalesced energy and began to assault them both. Looking around for anything to defend himself, Connor eyed a simple mages staff adorned with a wicked curved staff blade. He lashed out mumbling enchantments under his breath. Fire, ice, and lightning exploded from the staff enveloping the demons killing them.

            “Drop the staff mage,” Cassandra ordered after the demons were dispatched, “You don’t need a weapon.”

            “Listen, even if I didn’t have a staff I could run away or attack if I need to,” argued Connor, “I swore to you that if I can help, I would do all that I can.”

             Realizing the validity of the argument and assessing the situation, she allowed Connor to keep the staff as a token of good faith and further protection. Both member of the party moved forward and encountered an elven mage and a dwarf rouge fight a small collection of wisps. After defeating them, the elf revealed his name to be Solas, and the dwarf to be Varric. Varic was a sturdy dwarf with golden hair, and Solas was a wiry elven man who’s sharp featured sere accented by his shaven face and head. Solas quickly grabbed Connor’s hand and used the mark to dispel the rift that had formed.

            “How did you know that would work Solas?” asked Cassandra astonished.

            “I didn’t,” he replied pertly, “I just hoped it would work.”

            Varric then commented, “Well that’s all good and good, but see if it will work on the big one, because Bianca and I can only handle so many demons.”

“Bianca,” inquired Connor

“My crossbow,” called Varric.

“You named your crossbow?”

“Yes do you find it strange, plenty of folks name their weapons?”

“Well, why Bianca?”

“That involves a girl and a promise, and that’s a story I am never going to tell.”

            Cassandra then quipped, “Will you two stop with the idle chatter we have a job to do.”

The group then proceeded forward into the storm. The frozen mountain winds whipped and swirled, demons fell from “The Breach” and they moved passed the adversities. They were about to cross into a gate when a rift split open spilling demons over the field. The small battalion burst into action Cassandra hacking and slashing away at demons bashing them with her shield, she then spun out of the way as Varric took aim. Varric fired a volley of bolts into the heads of the demons; the bolts were enhanced by a series of fiery orbs Solas cast into the enemy. Connor dove into the fray, he used an icy dash to spirit through the enemies freezing them on contact and flanking them. Then he spun around striking his staff in the ground sending bolts of purple lightning to shatter the frozen demons. All four members of the party continued the onslaught until the rift tamed enough to be closed. Connor raised his hand and a stream of energy poured into the rift, he could feel the space being sown together. With a quick flick of his arm, he pulled the magical stitching and the rift was sealed.

            Stepping through the gate they encountered a younger redheaded girl who called to them as said, “Cassandra by the Maker, the forces are struggling- we need to move and we need to move now.”

            “Why do you have him here,” called a man in Chantry robes, “Guards, arrest that man and ready him for travel to Val Royeaux, for trial and execution.”

            “Grand Chancellor Roderick, this boy firstly is my prisoner; secondly he is the best chance we have to closing the breach.

            “You’re out of line seeker; the boy is guilty of murdering the Divine.”

            “And, you are out of line, because you have no authority on this matter.”

            “Can you both stop talking like I am not here,” snapped Connor, “I want to help, I have no memory of the explosion, and  if I am guilty I will face my fate, but we must stop this rift in the sky from growing.”

            “The Breach” pulsed and grew raining more demons down on the mountain. Connor doubled over in pain from the expansion, the mark on his hand burning like fire. The redhead, known to Connor now as Leliana, proposed that they should sneak up the side of the mountain through the abandon mining tunnels and Cassandra countered that they would have less militia casualties if they did a forward assault to the ruined temple. Both turned to Connor to ask what he wanted.

            “Why me, why let me decide?” asked Connor.

            “Because,” spoke Cassandra, “you risk your life either way so you might as well get to choose the way you ascend the mountain.”

            “I don’t want any more unnecessary death on my behalf, I say let’s go with Cassandra’s idea to charge. If men are going to be fighting off demons and risking their lives, then I will as well.”

            Leliana relinquished command and Cassandra rallied the troops as they marched onto the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Solas and Varric moved along with Cassandra and Conner up the ruinous mountainside. The bitter winds and frozen ground chilled the companions to the bone as they marched towards “The Breach”. Climbing towards the peak the Connor catches sight of another rift. More of Cassandra’s forces are stuck battling the demons. Without thinking, Connor unsheathed his staff and charged into the fray. Spells of ice and fire rang out against the demon horde. Rushing forward Connor saw a rage demon about to gorge a man with blond hair in the back. Using the full force of the ice enchantment, Connor raced forward in a frozen haze. The curved end of the staff blade caught the demon in the throat before pulling sharply and removing its head. Connor turned to see that the man was staring at him surprised at the commotion. Connor met his eyes and then moved on to handle the rift. Again, he raised his hand sealing it, before turning to acknowledge the other soldiers.

            “Sealed as before you’re becoming quite proficient at this,” said Solas as he caught his breath.

            “Well let’s hope it works on the big one,” grumbled Varric.

            “Lady Cassandra,” the blond man called, “you managed to close the rift well done.”

            “Do not congratulate me commander Cullen, this is the prisoner’s doing,” replied Cassandra with a light smirk.

            “Is it,” asked Cullen looking the boy over examining him for any signs of a possible threat, “I hope they are right about you, we lost a lot of good men thus far trying to get you here.”

            “I’ll give it my best shot. I promise,” exclaimed Connor.

            Commander Cullen nodded and moved his troops to bolster the forward defenses.

            “Commander,” called Cassandra, “please buy us a little more time.”

            “I’ll see what I can do, but Maker, please hurry.”

            Cassandra called her forces to hurry, and the men charged towards the ruin. Once arriving upon the site of the former temple the forces quickly spotted large red crystals growing from the explosion site. The crystals gave of heat, and when the wind died, subtle whispers called for physical embrace.

            “Do not touch that stuff,” scolded Varric, “that’s red lyrium. This nasty shit can really mess you up, but why is it here?”

            “What do you mean?” asked Cassandra.

            “I know this shit exists, but why the hell is it here. I thought it was all locked away?”

            “Well,” Solas replied, “maybe it was brought here by the large influx from the magical explosion that caused the breach, thusly pulling any lyrium to the surface and corrupting it somehow?”

            Conner rushed forward and they a voice echo from the rift at the base of “The Breach”.

            “Help me,” the voice called, “please somebody help me.”

            “Was that… was that Divine Justinia’s voice,” asked Cassandra.

            The siege party looked on and listened as a scene at the conclave played before them in the rift. In the scene it showed Divine Justinia being held captive by a mysterious shadowed figure, calling for help. Then, Connor is show to enter the room and move to Justinia’s aid, the figure roared in anger and then the rift flashed a bright emerald.

            “You were there,” gasped Cassandra astonished at the scene she just witnessed, “You were with Divine Justinia.”

            “I have no memory of it,” Connor pleaded, “I am so sorry.”

            Just then the rift split and release a horde of wisps and shades, along with a single pride demon. Leliana positioned her troops and called for open fire. Taking a bow herself she charged with Cassandra, Solas, and Varric into the mass of demons. Connor steeled his will and called upon as much magic as he could, focusing it into the staff. The outer edges blistered in the heat of a fire spell and the staff transformed into an elemental branch.

Cassandra moved in a deadly dance of steel and grace. Her blade weaved elegantly through the air, whistling, whirring before spilling demonic ichor and blood. Solas cast charms of protection and whipped his staff conjuring up pillars and spires of ice to pierce and entrap enemies. Varric and Leliana unleashed an onslaught of arrows. Each volley found their mark, the vitals of the opponents. Head, chest, and eyes were the primary target. Connor charged, weaving spell after spell. Lightning bit into wisps reducing them to dust, fire and ice scorched and shattered shades. His focus shifted to the looming giant, the pride demon. Calling forth a pulse of energy he synced with the rift and caused it to expel a wave of energy. The wave disoriented the pride demon, and shattered its aura armour.

            That’s all Connor needed.

            Lunging forward, Connor raced across the field, stepping on rubble he pushed himself in the air. Calling on the energy of the Fade, he formed steps under his feet to ascend towards the demon’s face. Connor jumped off the final step and plunged his staff in the gaping mouth of the demon. Its eyes widened as it fell, but it was too late. Connor called as much elemental magic into his staff, and when he felt as if it was going to burst he released it all into the creature. A flash and then a hazy red mist encompassed the ruin. The demon was reduced to a bloody pulp before being absorbed by the fade. Connor hit the ground, his right arm scorched and bloody. Pushing himself to his feet, with the last of his strength, Connor raised his mark to the rift. The seams stiched, the rift sealed, and the Connor pulled his arm away halting “The Breach.”

            In the last glimmer of the rift light Connor’s eyes shifted from a bronze to a vibrant purple, as deep as an amethyst. Connor’s eyes then fluttered shut as he fell forward towards the ground. Cassandra moved forward to catch him, gently supporting his lithe frame. The crowds cheered and moved to tend to the wounded. Commander Cullen came forward bringing support.

…

            Cullen heard a large explosion and rallied his men to investigate the ruin, he prayed that his friends were safe. When he reached the top of the ridge he saw the young mage run and charge the pride demon, he watched it die at his hand. Cullen looked onward and found himself feeling mildly proud that such a young boy could hold his own and smite an upper echelon demon. He witnessed the boy be enveloped in an explosion and then hit the ground wounded. As Cullen and his men proceeded into the battle field they watched as the boy collapsed. Cullen went to tend to the boy with Solas and Cassandra.

            “He did it Cassandra, he actually did it.”

            “Yes Commander, he did.”

            “What’s his name Cassandra?”

            “Connor, Commander Cullen, Connor Trevelyan.”

            Cullen smiled slightly and brushed some dirt off of Connor’s face. How could someone so young be so powerful, and be exactly what they needed. The Maker must have been at work to arrange such a miracle in such a tragedy. This young mage was the answer to the prayers of thousands, he was to be a message of the divine.

            “Connor Trevelyan,” whispered Cullen, “the Herald of Andraste.”


	2. The Hinterlands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waking up after halting the breach, our character's begin to grow, and pasts come to light.

The Hinterlands

            Gasping Connor shot up and found himself in a tucked into a bed. A startled yelp and a sudden crash caught his attention. A young elven girl looked at him with excitement and fear. Before he could speak, the girl ran from the room saying that she was going to inform the commander that the ‘Herald’ had awakened. Confused Connor made his way out of the small one room cabin following the young elf to the chantry. He moved forward when he heard his name being called.

            “Lord Trevelyan, please if you have a moment.”

            Connor turned and faced the direction from where the voice called. Before him stood, a young woman with silky black hair pulled into a bun with curls. She dressed lavishly in gold and blue. Her olive skin, fair and kissed by the sun. In her left hand, she carried a board affixed with an inkpot and a candle, in her right, a quill was elegantly poised to strike. The mysterious woman had a kind face with elegant features, but in her eyes and smile, a mischievous glimmer shone.

            “Lord Trevelyan pleased to make your acquaintance, I am Josephine Montilyet, I will be acting as the ambassador of the inquisition,” said the young Antivan.

            “A pleasure, umm, what happened and what’s this about an inquisition?”

            Cassandra’s voice then called both Josephine and Connor’s attention, “You closed the rift at the base of “The Breach” stopping it. Furthermore, I have declared the inquisition reopened and moved to end the threat of the Mage and Templar war facing Thedas.”

            Connor stood shocked Josephine caught him up to speed as the rest of the commanders assembled themselves in the war room. The topic on hand was on how to prove Connor’s innocence to the chantry, and how to bolster the inquisition’s forces. Leliana said that her scouts reported that they could receive aid from the hinterlands, but only if they can help eliminate the mage and Templar waring insurgence that was taking place there. Connor nodded and the war council was concluded. At first light Connor would head out to the Hinterlands with Solas, Varric, and Cassandra.

            “Connor is it,” Commander Cullen called.

            “Yes sir.”

            “I saw you fight at the temple, which was very impressive. Where did you learn to do all that, I have seen circle mages, but that was interesting.”

            “Well, I am a circle mage,” responded Connor, “I was from the Ostewick Circle before it fell to pieces. As for where I learned to fight, well, I don’t know I guess I have always been creative with my gift, much to the dismay my grand enchanter. My family learned of my abilities when I was five, I accidently froze my brother’s hair after a swim in our family pond.”

            “You have siblings?”

            “Unfortunately,” groaned Connor with a smirk, “I have three older brothers. I am the youngest son, my oldest brother; Eric is thirty-five and is married with two daughters. Then there are the twins, Michael and Max, they are both twenty-four. Michael is a representative in the Orlesian court and Max is a master of arms for the noble house that Michael speaks for. Both of them are womanizers, and will never marry. Then there is me, the youngest son, the disgrace to the family line. The mage.”

            Connor’s eyes glanced downward filling with sorrow and beginning to brim with tears. Cullen put his hand on the boy’s shoulder meeting his eyes. Connors eyes now seemed a shade of blue, were they always blue thought Cullen as an afterthought.

            “Connor,” Cullen spoke firmly but kindly, “You are not a disgrace, I know mages are dangerous, but just from what I have witnessed you are loyal and good hearted, furthermore you seem to have a firm grasp of your powers. I take it you miss your brothers?”

            “Yes I haven’t written to them in a long while. My brothers were pains, but they didn’t care that I showed up with magic, unlike my parents who wanted nothing to do with me. I miss them greatly.”

            “Hey now, lose that sorrowful look, we have things to do. Come,” called the young commander, “Let’s spend the next hour or two training it will get your mind off of this. Besides, you will be an asset to teach our men how to deal with spells.”

            Connor smiled, nodded, and followed the young man to the training grounds. He now really got to look at the man that he had saved on the mountain. He was older than Max and Michael probably twenty-eight or twenty-nine. Connor could tell that even under the heavy armour, he had a muscled physique. Cullen’s face was broad and he had a strong jaw that was covered in light stubble.  A small scar adorned the right corner of his mouth. His golden eyes were kind and authoritative, but they were also distant.

            After reaching the training grounds, the two began sparring Connor slung spell after spell and Cullen blocked or deflected them, showing his men how to handle the magical onslaught. Cullen then lunged and moved on the offensive he wanted to see how the boy handled himself in close quarters combat. Connor noticed this change in pace and adapted accordingly. Calling his will into the staff, he enchanted the spear-tip staff blade with ice, making the edge razor sharp.  Connor switched from spells to staff fighting. He parried Cullen’s blows and moved gracefully to slice at him with the blade. The soldiers of the inquisition watched on in awe as such a young boy was able to hold his own in close quarters combat. Cullen raised his shield and charged causing Connor to leap backwards. Mid leap, Cullen caught Connor’s feet hoping to tip him to the ground. Connor planted a hand and flipped backwards with one-handed back springs. The men cheered him on, blown away by his circus like agility.

            “Where did you learn to do that,” asked Cullen astonished.

            “The same place I learned to do this,” called Connor as he threw his staff towards Cullen. He dodged it easily, moving to bash the charging mage. Connor broke into a full sprint and just before Cullen’s reach; he slipped to the ground and slid between his legs. Mid slide, Connor froze Cullen’s feet into place. Grabbing his staff still on the ground, he pushed up and flipped onto Cullen’s shoulders, his thighs around his neck. Pulling back with all his might, he flipped the commander and sent him head over heels into the snow. Cullen hit the ground hard, and when his vision came back into focus, Connor had the blade of his staff under his chin.

            “Well Commander, I believe that this match is mine,” Connor said with a mischievous smile.

            “Well almost,” smirked the downed commander as he pulled his right arm back. In his hand was a small wire. It was connected to Connor’s feet, but Connor realized this too late and his feet were pulled away from him. His balance lost Connor hit the snowy ground hard, and soon after found Cullen on top of him holding a dagger to his throat.

            “So actually I believe this match is mine,” whispered Cullen, his face inches from Connor’s.

            Connor blushed and spoke, “When and how did you do that?”

            “When you were flipping me.”

            Cullen leaned forward to cut the small wire free from his gauntlet, his body pressed against Connor whose face began to grow hot.

            “Um, excuse me Commander, but you are crushing me, I mean, well mostly just your armour is,” peeped Connor.

            Blushing, the commander quickly got off the poor mages chest and helped him up. Both of them finally too the chance to see their surroundings, they had drawn a crowd. Cassandra, Leliana, and Josephine were all standing at the head of it smiling.

            “Commander,” spoke Leliana, “I believe this is the first time I have ever seen you almost lose.”

            “I agree,” called Cassandra with a smile, “our young herald is proficient at his spells and his acrobatics.”

            “This spar was riveting,” gushed Josephine, “Connor’s agility reminds me of the Antivan acrobats, and the battle a likeness of a hero’s tale. Are you sure you’re not an Antivan Crow?”

            Varric nodded and congratulated Cullen on his win and praised Connor on his valiant effort. He made a comment about having to use that last move in the next book he writes. Solas watched on from afar, nodding with approval. A small smile present on his face.

            Connor was bombarded with some of the younger soldiers and hoisted on their shoulders. They carried him; cheering his name, and how he gave their Commander a “run for his money.” Connor looked back to his fellow companions with pleading eyes as he was dragged off to the tavern. Cullen saw it in his eye that he wanted to avoid the tension and rest before deploying to the Hinterlands, but Varric stopped him.

            “I know curly, you wanna help the kid get some rest, but the men need to see him as one of us not just a symbol or a mage. Don’t worry, I’ll head to the tavern and make sure that he is able to leave and get some rest after a little while.”

            Cullen nodded and headed back to the barracks to strip from his armour and bathe.

…

            Back in the barracks, Cullen removed his armour and sent it to the squires to be mended. Looking down at his body, he noticed bruises where Connor fists and staff hit him even through his armour. He examined his wounds and wondered if Connor maybe had the same on his. Cullen imagined the boy’s body with small amounts of bruising, his lithe frame, his lean muscles, his innocent smile…. “What the hell. Why was he thinking this,” Cullen thought to himself as he headed to the hot springs to bathe. Connor was a friend nothing more, besides he had only once had feelings and it was for a female mage, the Hero of Ferelden. They had met when he was quite young and he never considered anyone else after she died killing the Arch-Demon.

Cullen shook it off and moved to enter the steaming spring in the moonlight. Lowering himself into the hot water, he felt his muscles relax. He was just about to close his eyes when he heard rustling on the path behind him. Turning he saw Connor, looking exhausted and flustered at the same time.

“You have the same thought as me then,” he said sheepishly, “Sorry; I didn’t think anyone else would be here this late. My apologies Cullen.”

“It’s fine Connor no need to apologize.”

“I’ll make my leave then sorry to disturb you.”

“Connor, you don’t need to go,” said Cullen a little quicker than he should have, “I mean that, you look exhausted, and what in the Maker is that stain on your shirt.”

Looking down with a grimace Connor replied, “To be honest I really don’t know. A bunch of the men were drinking and mixing drinks and some of the mages here started drunkenly mixing drinks, leading to more drunkenness, ergo this stain.”

Cullen laughed and smirked, “I take it this is your first time dealing with drunken soldiers.”

“Yes how could you tell,” spoke Connor as he took off his shirt, revealing a series of small bruises from the spar.

“You are here and not there getting pissed off your ass.”

Connor laughed and then stopped and stared at the commander, getting very red in the face.

“Umm Cullen, would you mind turning away? I know it’s stupid, but I don’t want you to see me.”

Immediately Cullen’s face flushed and he turned from Connor. He heard the fumbling of shoes, a belt, and the soft thud of pants hitting the ground. Cullen remained facing the other direction until he heard a small yelp and large splash. Cullen turned to the noise and saw Connor red faced break the surface of the water sputtering and swearing.

“Damn ice,” coughed the mage, “my foot slipped and I hit my head. Damn this water is freakishly hot.”

Cullen laughed and moved to help the mage, “Sure it was ice, maybe you have had more to drink than you thought.”

“I haven’t drunk anything!”

“Now calm down, I didn’t mean anything by it. Here let me see if you hit your head”

Cullen moved forward and steadied the young mage: pulling him towards the runoff so they could sit in the shallows. Connor blushed fiercely and Cullen noticed this and took a step back. Connor’s shoulders eased as the distance between them increased. Both men took their time bathing and soaking in the moonlight. Neither of them saying a word.  Connor’s shoulders gave as his tension dissipated. Cullen noticed that his own body seemed to loose tension as time progressed. “Why was he so nervous around this boy?” looking over he saw the boy’s head begin to lull, his eyes fluttering shut. Seconds later, Connor was snoring softly in the water.

“Hey. Connor no passing out on me here, you could drown, come one its time for you to get out,” said Cullen as he began to help the boy out of the spring. Lifting the boy out of the water and onto the stone, the cold night air woke him instantly.

“Maker’s ass what the hell,” yelled Connor.

“You passed out in the spring and if I remember correctly drowning is not good for one’s health.”

“Well you could have just….shit put some clothes on,” ordered Connor turning beet-red and covering himself, “and turn around.”

Cullen complied and turned away. Listening he heard rustling of clothes and then cry of pain. Turning again, Cullen saw that Connor had slipped on the icy stone and smacked the side of his head. He was bleeding heavily. Rushing to help Cullen exited the spring and tried to examine the severity of the wound. The young mage lost it. He struggled against Cullen and screamed pitifully like a kicked dog. That’s when it hit him, Connor’s submissive demeanor. Cullen quickly grabbed his cloak and covered the crying boy. He then dressed as fast as he could and went back to tend to the wound.

“Connor, shhh, please, it’s okay I am not going to touch you. I am not going to hurt you. Just please turn your head so I can stop the bleeding.”

Connor slowly stopped shaking and turned bleary eyed towards Cullen. The wound was shallow, but it was above the eye so it was going to bleed heavily.

“Can you walk,” asked Cullen softly trying to ease the boy’s tension. Connor nodded and Cullen helped him to his feet and escorted him to the healer. 

“What happened to him Commander,” asked the healer.

Not wanting to recount everything and spare Connor, Cullen replied, “Connor was out practicing and then he came to the springs to bathe before he leaves tomorrow. Apparently, he pushed himself too hard and the hot water caused him to pass out and hit his head. I was already at the springs bathing when he fell, so I wrapped him in my cloak to prevent the cold and brought him straight here.”

The healer nodded and moved into the other room to prepare a potion for warmth and a poultice for the bleeding. Cullen turned to leave, and Connor grabbed his arm.

“Why did you—.”

“We all have our own secrets and pasts. I am not here to judge yours.”

“Thank you Commander”

Cullen nodded and left the healer’s cabin. Walking back to his own he chastised himself for not noticing sooner. Connor had acted the way he did, acts the way he does because he was tortured. Hundreds of faint scars riddled his back, nearly impossible to see. They were just thin pale lines that one would not notice unless they were looking for them.

“How could I be so fucking stupid,” Cullen whispered angrily to himself.

That night sleep did not come easy as Cullen dreamed of his own demons, his own past coming to haunt him. He woke several times in the night gasping for air, nails dug into the bed. By the time morning arrived, the entire bed was soaking in sweat. He got up and quickly washed his face and body in the icy water of the washing basin. The cold shocked him briefly easing the stiffness in his neck. He dressed quickly and went to see the Hinterlands party off.

“Cassandra, when shall we expect your return,” asked Leliana.

“This gambit should take no more than a fortnight; I will send ravens daily to update you on our positions.”

Leliana nodded and headed back to the chantry, Cullen then stepped forward giving final orders to the men accompanying the recruitment party. Turning to face his companions, he wished them well.

Solas called for them to make haste if they were going to make the hinterlands by nightfall. Varric grumbled sleepily and mounted his war nug. Cassandra mounted her own mare and Solas an Elven Hart. Connor turned his face tired; a bandage wrapped around his head, and mounted a Dracolisk. The riders set off to with haste to bolster the inquisition, and before disappearing over the ridge, Connor looked back, catching Cullen’s eyes. He mouthed ‘thank you’ before riding off into the morning light.


	3. New Allies and Old Wounds

New Allies and Old Wounds

Connor moved forward speeding his Dracolisk through the masses of trees, his campaign party almost to the center of the hinterland square. His Dracolisk was white and had stripes of grey and silver; thusly Connor called him Frozen Wind. Frozen Wind hissed pleasantly as he sailed over a small stream into the square. People gathered and saw the young mage dismount. Children whispered that the Herald came to them on a dragon to save them from the mages and the Templars. Cassandra and the others followed and dismounted as well. Then a chantry priestess came forward to speak with them, her Orlesian tone soft and soothing.

“You must be the Herald of Andraste; it is an honor to meet you.”

“Don’t trust him mother Giselle, he’s another mage,” a wounded man called.

“I will trust him and hold your tongue, I give no mind if he was a mage or Templar, and the point is, that he has come to help us. Otherwise I presume he would have attacked us like the others by now.”

“Thank you mother Giselle,” said Connor, relieved she didn’t hate him, “I am here to help but I am also here to gain support for the inquisition.”

“To that we can offer very little,” Sighed mother Giselle, “But if you were to go to Val Royeaux, and propose to the elects of the Chantry I am sure you could gain their help.”

“The Chantry calls me a heretic, and condemns the inquisition.”

“Yes some, but not all. You just need to get them to doubt and consider for support to grow, but as for our support we need you to handle the rebel mages and the rouge Templars that are fighting, they are destroying the area and are moving to attack innocent areas.”

Connor nodded and moved to his party. They mounted and called to the people of the village, saying that they will stop the warring insurgence groups. After heading back to camp, Varric and Cassandra moved to mobilize inquisition troops across the Hinterlands. Solas took this as time to get to know the other mage in the party and the two went for a stroll through the woods. Connor didn’t speak much but he just took in the mountain air and the warm sun on his skin. Solas smiled.

“You know you almost look like a Dalish doing that, you are taking in nature and I can see you are indirectly drawing in the Fade.”

Connor stumbled a little, and laughed, “Am I? I never thought that this was non-human behavior, but then again, I do feel the trees and the earth whisper to me.”

Solas smiled, “You know the ancient elves would have been shocked, but happy that an outsider could feel nature like you do. Do you know under what sign you were born?”

“Yes, it was Draconis. My father and mother were so pleased, they are devout and superstitious, so I was apparently destine for a grand future. Well, until I showed signs of magic, then they shipped me away.”

Connor sighed and let his shoulders fall only to feel a hand rest on them.

“Well if I may say, I think they were right, you are well on your way to being a great mage, and to us all, you are the Herald of Andraste.”

Connor smiled at this and the pair of them walked back to the camp. Connor unknowingly causing flowers to bloom from the energy he was happily pulling from the Fade.

…

“Leliana,” called Josephine from across the war table.

“Yes.”

“Did you know that our young herald is part of Free Marches nobility, the house of Trevelyan is distant cousins from the Orlesian crown, and we may be able to ask them for favors? Also I have been looking into the Ostewick circle, some of the surviving Templars and mages could move to help us, and they haven’t sided with the warring factions.”

“Well Josie, it appears nothing can stop your outreach into the politics of the inquisition. I will also look into our young heralds background, maybe we can find more allies if his family is extensive as most Orlesian nobilities.”

The two advisors nodded and Cullen came into the room holding a small bit of parchment with a broken silver wax seal.

“It’s a letter from Cassandra, they want us to make ready, upon their return, a transport to Val Royeaux. They wish to appeal to the chantry fathers for aid to the inquisition. Furthermore, they are forewarning us that we are getting some new recruits and a horse master by the name of Dennet.”

“Well,” smiled Leliana, “It seems our young mage is a bit of a charmer, able to win over, not only new spies for us, but also to enlist some trade opportunities. Also, the addition of a proper horse master to our stables means that we can start breeding and maintaining more mounts for our forces.”

“Well that is perfect timing, I am currently writing a letter to Count de Mosimarde, for supply of the finest Orlesian stallions. He lost a bet a while back and he owes me a favor,” said Josephine with a wickedly playful smirk.

“So I take it that you challenged him to a game of king’s hand,” inquired Leliana smiling.

“Yes, yes I did.”

“Oh now Josie you know that’s cruel.”

Both girls broke out into a fit of laughter and Cullen stood their stunned and mildly confused. The laughing died down and Josephine went back to filing letters and attending to noble guests. Leliana took her leave and was off to the rookery, holding in her hand the orders to investigate Connor’s past and to invite the surviving members of the Ostewick circle to the inquisition.

Cullen turned and headed to his private quarters at the back of the Chantry. Finished with today’s training he sunk into a chair by the fire and pulled out a small letter sealed with purple wax, with the imprint of a steed addressed to him. Opening it, he saw small elegant script wiry and thin like vines. The letter said:

_Dear Commander Cullen,_

_I write to you in haste that I have closed my sixth rift here in the hinterlands. Furthermore, I believe we are close to ousting the rebel Mages and Templars. I write to you as a friend and an advisor, please know that if I do not survive these assaults I want my brothers to be informed, you can reach the twins at the house of Duchard, and my eldest brother Eric is now the lord of Shallows hall in Orlais. Thankyou for your advice and for your strength…I hope to see you again soon…._

_Yours truly,_

_Connor Michael Trevelyan._

_P.S. Please keep what you saw and what you think you know a secret, I promise you, you do not know the truth of the matter. Just forget that aspect of me._

            Cullen looked down at the letter, a wave of emotions washed over him. Firstly, he was angry that someone so young lectured him and told him to forget his pain and that he doesn’t understand. Then he was sad that the young mage didn’t feel that he could trust him to keep it a secret without warning. Then he felt happy that he felt he could trust him to speak to his family, and finally he felt scared at the thought of losing the young mage.

            He sat in front of the fire for a long while wrestling with his emotions, finally, he snapped, ‘why am I letting this bother me. He faces the same risks as anyone else. Why did he pull this with me? Josephine could more easily contact his family. Also, how dare he think I am going to gossip away what happened at they spring. Cullen clenched his fist, crushing the letter. Then he tossed it in the fire watching it smolder, before feeling terrible and whishing he hadn’t.

…

            Connor moved quietly as the woods thickened, Casandra and Solas in front and behind him respectively. Varric, armed with Bianca, followed them off a way to the right providing cover as they headed through the wood. The mist swirled around them and the woods grew cold, large spires of enchanted ice began to become more prominent in the terrain. Connor focused and he could feel the pull of the magic around him the ice resonated with a deep hum, and the air was heavy. Suddenly it felt as if all of the magic was pulled away in a silent gasp.

            “Get down,” screamed Connor tackling his companions to the ground. Overhead a volley of fireballs soared and then exploded on contact with a tree. Varric wasted no time he unleashed a wave of arrows at the source of the fire, two mages. More mages began to stream out of a cave that they seemed to be using as their base. The battle was on, Cassandra charged under Varric’s cover fire, and Solas moved into the fray weaving spells of ice.  Connor tried to attack, but fell short when a shard of ice shot through the air and piercing his shoulder. A mage came up to him and stepped on the shard pushing it deeper into his wound.

            “Arrogant little shit, how’d you know my brother was casting fire, he was the best at silent cast. Tell me. I. Said. Tell. Me. Now,” screamed the mage as he twisted the shard causing Connor to scream in pain. Varric and the others turned to see, freezing when they saw the boy being hurt. Cassandra went into a rage slashing at the mages, leaving Varric and Solas to act as cover she heard Connors’s voice cry out begging him to stop, begging him not to cut him again. The mage picked him up by the throat at slammed him into a tree. Pulling out a knife, he plunged in into the boy’s chest. The boy’s eyes widened with fear and shock. Cassandra hit the ground falling to her knees and screaming.

            “See seeker this is why the Templars are going to l—,” the mage never finished his sentence. His head fell from his shoulders. Connor stood before the corpse and was breathing heavily he screamed as he pushed his hands forward. Blood from his own wounds and blood from the corpse flowed into a great ball, before igniting and crashing into the cave. Connor fell to the ground unconscious from blood loss.

            His friends stood shocked and scared, this young boy innately without training used blood magic to save them from the mages assault. They gathered the boy and cleared the cave all while the screams of the burning mages faded into the night.

…

            Cullen woke in the night his bed soaked in sweat; the moon high in the sky shining through his window. The nightmares were worse tonight, and his conflicting thoughts did nothing to ease his mind. He leaned to sit on the edge of the bed, his face in his palms as he tried to calm his breathing. A small tapping noise on his window revealed a raven with another letter addressed directly to him; it was sealed with Cassandra’s sigil. He opened it and read the words quickly a silent stream of curses left his lips. Connor was hurt, badly, and to be kept amongst the inquisition council, a powerful blood mage. His mind raced he knew the boy didn’t practice it, and he worried what would happen to him once he awoke. Cullen lay back in his bed trying to sleep, but sleep would not come tonight it would elude him until the sun breached his sight.

…

            Connor bolted up and immediately regretted his choice. His shoulder and chest screamed in agony and he felt bile gather at the back of his throat. His eyes brimmed with tears and he blinked them away wanting to scream.

            “Seeker, he’s awake,” called Varric mournfully

            Cassandra entered the tent followed by Solas, her face exhausted and full of remorse. Solas looked at him is face troubled and full of concern.

            “Guys what’s happening, what’s going—.”

            “You used blood magic,” said Cassandra cold and detached.

            Connor’s eyes widened with fear and he felt hot tears stream down his cheeks. “He couldn’t be a blood mage, could he?” He began to sob heavily and he started begging for mercy. His companions’ voices faded from his ears, his sobbing and begging grew even more desperate.

            “Don’t kill me please, don’t hurt me, I am sorry. I didn’t mean to do it, please, please I am good I swear. Don’t give me to the Templars I don’t want to go through that hell again. Please, please, I am sorry I am not an abomination, Maker please.”

            Solas reached down and hugged the young mage. He held him tight and Varric and Cassandra moved to rest their hands on his shoulders sitting on either side of them.

            “Listen to me please Connor. You’re not going anywhere. You’re not in any sort of trouble. Solas explained it to us, mages can sometimes lash out especially if they are high caliber and under emotional trauma. It was a reflex, only Cullen, Leliana, Josephine, and we know,” whispered Cassandra trying to calm the boy.

            Connor’s eyes were red and puffy, but he managed to nod in acknowledgement, in between short gasps. Solas let the boy go and smiled slightly, his eyes a mix of sadness and compassion.

            Speaking softly he said, “Even though it’s terrible something good came of this. Connor look at your eyes.” Solas held a mirror aloft and Connor looked into them to see that though his skin was red and blotchy from the sobs, his irises were a deep amethyst, and radiating veins of vermillion and lavender. “Your eyes have changed because you were destined to do this, Connor you are what the elves would have called ‘ _Babaela'belannar-Dirth'ena enasalin’_ , in your tongue, ‘The Grand-father of knowledge gained.’ You serve as the grand magus, the strongest mage of yours, and any generation to be. You are coming into your powers as a sorcerer not just a mage. It has been more than a hundred years since the world had a sorcerer.”

            “Listen up Doey,” said Varric calmly, “we are here for you and we get it. Yeah it shocked us all at first but I know the stories, the grand magus always has some sort of calamity before the dawn. Now come one, no more tears, it’s time to head back to Haven, the Templars have been defeated, some of the mages that sided with us destroyed their camp.”

            Connor nodded and then asked a simple question, “Why Doey Varric?”

            Varric replied with a simple smirk, “Because of your big purple doe eyes.”

            The group of companions laughed and began making plans to leave the camp for Haven. There they would stop and supply and move to Val Royeaux for negotiations with the Chantry fathers. Packing and travel took longer than expected due to Connor’s injuries, but soon they were on the king’s road back to Haven. Cassandra sent ravens ahead of them to inform their companions of their progress, and on Connor’s new title and state. Black wings flew through the sky but the notes held news that was pure and vindicating.

…

            Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen receive raven after raven for three days straight. The birds carried words of fealty, and messages of status. One message in particular eased Cullen’s mind. He received another private letter from Connor, the same spiraling script, but more jagged which, from what Cullen could tell by the letter, was the wound on Connor’s shoulder. Cullen found himself concerned for him and angry that he was not there to protect him. Nightfall came and Cullen had found the most peace he had since the herald had left. The night was cool and sleep came easy to the commander. His nightmares only flitting images against the blank bliss of sleep.

            Connor arrived early the next morning, he and his party exhausted and covered in evidence of their travels. Cullen stuttered with a small hitch in his breath when he caught sight of Connor. The boy had bandages tied around his right shoulder and his arm was in a sling. The bandages tinged pink with faint traces of blood and brown from the grime of travel. Cullen again found himself drawn to coddle the young mage. Chastising himself he greeted them and helped Connor down, the boy seemed to lose some of his original happy demeanor and his eyes changed, not just the colour, but they seemed vacant and hollow when they met his; like he failed him.

            “Come on,” said Cullen, “Let’s get you patched up and ready to go on your tour of Val Royeaux.” Connor nodded and walked with the commander. He began to fear that he was going to punish him when they left the view of the others. In a hushed whisper, Cullen spoke again, “Connor, I am glad you’re alright, and as for the blood magic. Think nothing of it, it was an accident, just promise me you won’t use it again.”

            “I promise,” said Connor, tears streaming down his cheeks as he was escorted to the healer. The boy silently sobbed and Cullen held him close his arms holding the boy tight as they walked to the healer, he wanted to protect him, wanted to never let him hurt again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I love that people are reading this. I am working on Chapter 4 as of right now, but hopefully I'll try to post a chapter every 4 or 5 days, maybe every week, idk life of a music major is weird. Anyways, I appreciate Comments and advice and if you want to discus plot I am down. I always want to bounce ideas.


	4. A Storm of Friends and Enemies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Herald and Cullen are throw to the 'lions' of Orlais. Our young mage will see they beauty of Val Royeaux, attend a ball, and receive a message in red. All the while his past comes to light and brings a storm violent enough to shake even the most stone-willed spymaster.

A Storm of Friends and Enemies

            The city of Val Royeaux in Orlais was a grand assortment of wonders. Voice and song carried through the air with the scents of fresh flowers and perfumes. Oils and bakeries allured the senses, and the spires and towers entranced the eye, each of them adorned with flowing red banners. The city seemed to shine in a golden haze; gilded statues complemented the lapis walls and marble fixtures. The cool breeze from the canals rushed over one’s skin cooling even the most lavishly dressed noble. The people adorned themselves in ornate dress: the women in extravagant gowns embossed with gems, silver and golden thread, and lace. The men in similar attire, adorned with riches, and wearing tights and pantaloons as a sign of nobility. Both genders adorned with artesian crafted masks made of everything from lace to porcelain made to custom for the wearer. Each mask varied and took the shapes ranging from human to animal.

            Connor gasped in awe, sure, he came from a noble family, but he had never seen such a sight as this. The entire city screamed a lavish lifestyle of opulence. Mannerisms and character all spoke of excellence and excess. Solas noticed Connor’s entranced expression and smiled.

            “I take it this is your first time to the royal city,” he asked playfully.

            Connor nodded not speaking still taking in the sight that was Val Royeaux. Cassandra and Varric smiled lightly and followed him into the city followed by a small honor guard for extra protection, by Cullen’s insistence. Connor noticed an Orlesian couple and went to ask them for directions. When they noticed his presence, their eyes filled with fear and they hurried away into one of the many shops that riddled the alley.

            “What was that all about,” said Connor rubbing his bandaged arm.

            “It seems our reputation precedes us,” observed Solas.

            Just then, an inquisition scout ran up to the party panting heavily. Bracing herself she stood at attention and presented a report, “Lady Cassandra, the chantry fathers are in debate, the Templars are here and they are stirring up rumors against the inquisition. Val Royeaux is in an uproar.”

            “The Templars,” exclaimed Cassandra, “Why are they here?”

            “To protect the Orlesian people,” whimpered the scout, eyes downcast from Cassandra’s imposing figure, “from _You_ Seeker, from the inquisition.”

            Connor stood frozen in fear, Templars! His mind raced and he flashed back to all of the cruel torture he was put through; the beatings, the whippings, the… the hands on him. The thought made his skin crawl. His mind went blank and cold sweat rushed down the back of his neck. He began to shiver and all the blood drained from his face. He regained focus at Cassandra’s breath of exasperation.

            Cassandra stood aghast. A voice carried over the bridge to the square and Cassandra lead the group to the source of the voice. Pushing through the throng of people the party stood witness as a chantry sister proclaimed to a crowd of Orlesians, “Look see here the one who claims the Maker’s will; the one who stood where our beloved Divine fell.” Connor’s eyes widened with fear and concern as the crowd turned on him. “Blasphemy! We call it blasphemy, for only the Divine can call to speak for the maker’s will, not some heretical Herald of Andraste. Our late Divine Justinia has fallen; she lies dead because of the false truths of this blasphemous heretic.”

            Between the stress of the city, his wound, the fears of the Templars’ wrath, and the angry cleric Connor’s voice faltered and cracked. He could feel himself being forced into a corner. Hot tears began to well up in his eyes as the urge to breakdown and cry burned in the back of his throat. Suddenly the crowd turned and their focus changed. A large man took rise on the cleric’s pedestal. His breastplate adorned with the menacing blade of truth. The cleric turned to speak, but the man swiftly cuffed her with his gauntlet, knocking her unconscious. That was the final straw; the last things Connor remembered were Cassandra screaming at Lord Seeker Lucius, the large man, and his evil smile as he watched the mage faint.

…

            “Josie, have you received any words from the Ostewick survivors,” inquired Leliana as she filed through reports. Papers piled high as the circulation of raven messages cycled endlessly.

            “Yes, I have. Leliana we are going to have to make room for the newer Templars and the Mages. From their correspondence they will arrive within the next week,” called Josephine.

…

            Connor awoke in his cabin and the elven servant girl, whose name was Elara, greeted him with a smile. She helped him sit up in his bed and moved to change his bandages. Raising his arm, he unraveled the gauze and Elara prepared a poultice and a new set of linen bandages. The wound was large but it was sewn with silk and the swelling had gone down. Elara applied the salve and wrapped the bandages deftly, only once did Connor wince from pain. After she sat him up in bed, she hurried out only for a moment and returned with a tray of food. Quietly the two ate a breakfast of rich goat cheese and bread, lightly dusted with honey. The pair spoke quietly of what had happened. Elara told Connor how he arrived unconscious at Haven, and how the healer said it was his stress and exhaustion from healing that made him fall prey to the fainting. Connor nodded and finished his breakfast. Moving to dress for the day, he bid Elara farewell. Waving and smiling slightly the young elven girl took her leave.

            Connor went to dress for the day; he grabbed a loose tunic and comfortable trousers, both deep black. Then he put on knee high boots that had hard leather in the front to protect his shins. The boots colour were midnight black and had silver threading and buckles. Finally, he pulled on a velvet cloak with tight sleeves. The outer material was again a deep black, but the inside was sparkling silver. The fasteners on the front were small dragon mouths and the hood drooped low hiding his face slightly. Connor liked this and made a mental note to thank Josephine for his clothes, he liked that his outfit made him look like a sleek shadow.

            Leaving his cabin, he locked the door and quickly hurried to the chantry to help with further planning. The snow was coming down in huge flakes and it rested on his cloak making him look like the night sky. Pushing through the doors of the chantry, Connor could hear voices echo from the council room. They were calling back and forth discussing several matters at once. Connor entered the council chambers and the voices stopped. Immediately his stomach dropped, but it was for naught when Josephine ran up and hugged the boy.

            “You know, you gave us such a fright with you dropping off like that, but I am glad to see you’re feeling better,” lectured Josephine with a sisterly tone.

            Solas turned and gave a small smile, “Lady Montilyet is correct, you had us worried for a while, you really should be resting.”

            Connor replied, “I know I should be resting, but we have work to settle.”

            “That we do,” Josephine said with a small sigh, “I wish you could receive more of a rest, but you have an invite to attend a ball held by Lady Vivienne de Fer, the imperial Enchanter to the Orlesian court, and mistress to Duke Bastien de Ghislain. The event is to be held at Duke Ghislain’s chateau on the Orlesian country side tomorrow evening.”

            Connor nodded.

            “We will also have to arrange who you will be taking to the ball as a guest and as protection,” stated Josephine, “Varric and Solas will not be able to go, it may cause a slight political scandal. I cannot attend because I must address the countless letters from Antivan nobility. Leliana cannot go because she is away on a small matter of investigation. I guess that leaves just Lady Cassandra or Commander Cullen.”

            Cassandra glared at Josephine and said, “For the hundredth time I do not like dancing, the Pentaghasts may be nobility, but I hate the lifestyle. I am not going. Besides, I do not wear dresses.”

            Josephine sighed, “I have told you before you would look lovely in a dress, but I digress. It seams that your only option is Commander Cullen. Both of you will be escorted, by private carriage, to the event.”

            Connor looked to Cullen, who had a mildly worried expression on his face. Both of them turned and nodded silently to Josephine who finished telling them of their preparations. They would take the carriage from Haven late tonight and arrive at Lady de Fer’s ball around seven in the evening. The council was called to a close and Josephine talked excitedly about the clothes she would have for the two men when they went to depart for the gala.

…

            Leliana arrived at the site mentioned by her men and a small group of scouts appeared from the shadows of the trees and rocks. Leliana immediately knew something was wrong. Her men wore sad and worried expressions, all of them looked troubled. The youngest a small girl named Ritz had bloodshot eyes from crying.

            “What happened, what have you found out about Connor’s past life?”

Silently one scout presented her with a small orange crystal. It was warm to the touch.

“Lady Nightingale, it’s a memory stone Templars and Mages use them to record events and important moment of the circle mages. Please, just help the poor boy. Don’t let those fucking Templars near him, they will ruin him,” the scout broke down, tears welling in his eyes, “Please, don’t let them hurt him anymore. Maker please”

Leliana stood shocked and confused, the sight of her men in shambles before her shook her resolve. Gingerly she took the small stone and willed it to life. The stone showed an image of a young Connor, he was no more than nine. It showed him being cornered by a group of Templars. The stone had no sound, but it was clear to see that Connor was screaming for help, until a Templar brought his hand across the boy’s face. Tears welled in his eyes and he tried to push past them. Another Templar grabbed him by the throat slamming him into the cold stone. The older men began to beat the boy and tear at his clothes. Knives carelessly cut the fabric, often biting into his skin. Leliana watched as the Templars shoved the boy to the ground and held his legs in the air as a Templar positioned himself between the boy’s legs. Connor screamed and struggled to no avail. A silent scream left Leliana’s lips as she watched each of the men take the boy. Each thrust merciless and brutal as to bring more pain. Connor screamed until one of the Templar gagged him. When they were finished, Leliana could see them laughing as they left leaving a bloody and broken boy sobbing on the icy marble floor.

“Lady Nightingale,” said the scout, his voice cracking in despair, that is one of ten crystals we recovered, each crystal holds twenty scenes. Each stone is another year, every year until just before the fall. All of them worse…. worse than the one before. They…. they took pride in torturing him and… and rap—.”

“Enough,” said Leliana, her voice as hard as stone, her cheeks covered in tears, “We have to report this to the others, and as for the Templars, I will flay them all living.”

…

Connor and Cullen were both called together to meet with Josephine. When they arrived back in the chantry, they could see three people in ostentatious dress behind her. Each holding a small leather roll that had glints of metal, and a strong fragrance of oils. Cullen looked to Connor, and vice versa, both quickly turning on their heels to leave. Josephine, much to their dismay caught them both by the shoulder with a grip like iron.

“How the hell could a lady who writes in elegant calligraphy all day have a grip to crush bone,” though Cullen as Josephine dragged them back.

“Connor, Cullen, I give you the masters of Orlesian fashion, Gabriel DuMont, Clarice Diae, and Tatianna DeChanie. I had them brought to be your stylist for the gala. Now off with you. You two only have two hours before the carriage departs, I will have your clothing packed and ready in the carriage. Have fun.”

The pair was dragged off by the stylist and seated in front of a large full body mirror. The pulled out small sets of shears, and Connor’s heart jumped in his throat. It was calmed when they pulled out a few small vials that smelled of faintly of burnt brown sugar. For Cullen they pulled out similar shears, but Cullen saw them and refused them.

“Now Commander,” Sung Gabriel, “I believe I know what I am doing.”

“I am well aware,” Gritted Cullen, “but, I prefer to have my hair my way.”

“Oooo see Clarice, Gabriel, I knew he styled it himself, no hair naturally looks perfectly tousled like that.”

With that, Cullen turned a bright red and snapped forward, the stylist conceded to only give him a shave and treat him with oils that were scented of cloves and cinnamon. Connor’s hair had grown out; becoming unkempt, ragged, and knotted. The stylist quickly sheared the sides, shaving them very short. The top was still ragged and long, but they stylist quickly rubbed in a foam that tingled his scalp. Tatiana quickly took a candle to it setting it on fire. Connor yelped and then opened his eyes; the mop on the top of his head was a blond in colour and had streaks of dark gold. Clarice smiled at Connor’s shocked expression, and quickly cut the ends off and styling swooping to the side. Gabriel quickly shaved the small hairs on Connor’s chin and treated his skin with the burnt sugar oil. After another half hour of plucking and scrubbing, all blemishes were cleared. Connor saw himself in the mirror and gasped, the bags under his eyes were gone and his skin was clear. He smiled. Cullen on the other hand just exhaled, and thanked the stylist; he hated looking to prim.

The stylist, who thanked them for their patronage, escorted both of them to the carriage. Cullen hurried inside the carriage and called to Connor saying they were going to be late if they did not leave now. Connor said a final thankyou and goodbye, entered the lavish transport, and closed the curtained door.

…

Leliana nearly rode her horse to death as she arrived in Haven. She stormed into the Chantry and the slamming doors echoed menacingly in the silence. Josephine and Cassandra turned quickly to see Leliana’ fuming with rage.

Josephine, trying to calm her friend, asked, “What happened, Leliana what is going o—.”

“Fucking Templars,” yelled Leliana, “call the rest of the council they need to know, so we can handle the members of the Ostewick circle.”

Cassandra did not question the infuriated spymaster, and called Varric and Solas to the council room. When they entered, they felt the tension and anger radiating off Leliana and the other two members of the council were sitting looking very solemn. There were ten orange stones place in the center of the table, each labeled with a list of twenty dates on a scroll of parchment.

“Sit,” snapped Leliana, and the two took their spots quickly, “I hope none of you ate, because you will empty your stomachs. Here is Connor’s past, up until the mage rebellion a year ago.”

Leliana willed the first stone and memory after memory played, then the second, and then the third, until all ten stones revealed all of their secrets. By the end Josephine was weeping, Cassandra had silent tears streaming down her cheeks and she stabbed a dagger through the wooden table. Varric had gotten up and smashed his hand into the cobblestone wall, wishing it were all a dream. Solas was the most composed of all of them, well until the final crystal ended, and then he stood taking his staff to leave. However, when his hand gripped the staff, his grip snapped it in two, the wood splintering and piercing his hand; blood dripped and he turned away from the stones. Only his shoulders shaking as he wept silently. Leliana sat like stone, knowing, that once the Templars survivors arrived, she would have to fight her friends for the satisfaction of killing them all.

…

Connor didn’t know when, but somewhere along the ride to the estate, he dozed off curling up in the seat opposite Cullen. Looking around the small compartment, he could see that Cullen had fallen asleep too. His face softer and less stern, the lines of worry and command wiped away. A small bump in the carriage woke Cullen; he leaned forward stretching and blinked groggily. Connor found this version of Cullen to be extremely attractive and cute. Now fully awake Cullen noticed Connor staring at him smiling happily.

“What,” he asked grumbly, “why are you staring at me? Did I say something stupid in my sleep or did I drool.”

Connor laughed as the young commander quickly gave himself a once over, looking for a spittle stain.

“No, Cullen, it is just that you looked very peaceful when you sleep. You for once look relaxed.”

“Well, thanks then, I have to say something similar about you. You mumbled about nonsense in your sleep and you snore just a little. You said something about not wanting, if I remember correctly, _flying tomatoes_. It was all rather cute if I may be honest.”

Connor blushed and laughed causing Cullen to laugh as well. The two sat laughing at the idea of flying tomatoes chasing a young mage who did not want to eat his vegetables.

“Coachman, how long before we reach the estate,” inquired Cullen through a small window. The sky was beginning to shift in colour.

“About twenty minutes, I suggest you both change into the outfits lady Josephine acquired for you,” called the Coachman.

Connor and Cullen both looked at each other in a slight state of shock. After a five-minute debate with the driver, Cullen turned to Connor saying that they are going to have to change in the coach. Connor nodded and grabbed the small parcel labeled with his name.

“No peeking,” Connor warned Cullen, “if you peep, I will freeze you solid.”

Cullen nodded and turned away from Connor facing the back wall of the carriage. He covered his eyes and after a few moments, he heard the sounds of clothing being shed. He heard the sound of a belt come loose and the soft thud on the floor. Connor moved to undress and dress quickly, unfortunately, the carriage hit a bump in the road jostling the boy and he fell naked into the lap of his Commander. Cullen gasped and turned and Connor yelped when their eyes met.

“This is the second time Cullen has seen me naked,” Connor screamed in his head. He bolted dressed again and Cullen red faced turned and faced the wall again. Connor called that he was finished and Cullen saw him turn and faced his wall. Cullen stripped immediately and dressed in his gala attire. He tapped Connor on the shoulder and told him that he was finished and they both turned to face one another, looking over the other’s party dress.

Connor was dressed in form-fitting shirt and pants with elegant leather boots with golden buckles. He had a formal black leather mage jacket with a long split tail and tight sleeves. All adorned with his black velvet cloak. The fastening on his jacket, doublet and cloak were small golden dragons. His outfit was colored black as night with golden accents. Hair lightly tousled and brushed up to the right accented his open face and vibrant amethyst eyes. Cullen’s outfit consisted of the same boots, brown leather trousers, a white military suit coat adorned with gold fastening, a blood-red sash and belt, and finally a small crimson shoulder-cape trimmed with fur. The fastener at Cullen’s shoulder took the shape of a large lion’s maw. His face clean-shaven and his golden eyes burned with confidence, his hair brushed back and effortlessly styled.

Both men sat breathless, each taking in the sight of the other. Neither of them sure of what to say or do.

“W-Well,” stuttered Cullen, “you look absolutely amazing. You look like the night sky full of falling stars.”

Connor blushed heavily; turning a similar shade of Cullen’s crimson and squeaked, “Thank you Commander, I…I think you look rather ravishing y-yourself, all of the ladies will flock to you.”

Cullen felt the heat rise in his cheeks and a small fire in the pit of his stomach. Both of them sat in awe of the other, until the carriage lurched to a halt, and the driver announced their arrival.

“Showtime,” Cullen said to Connor with a small smile, “time to pretend we both know what we’re doing here.” Cullen took Connor’s hand, causing Connor to blush yet again, and helped him from the coach. Connor wondered to himself why Cullen was so different from the other Templars, why he was so nice and safe.

Guards in elaborate armour stood watch at the gate as people in gaudy dress shuffled into the gate. Connor noticed as he walked arm in arm with Cullen, that the crowds’ eyes were on them. Then he noticed that they were the only couple that was not one female and one male. Connor could feel the whispers and rumors begin to flow as the herald announced them, “Ser Cullen Stanton Rutherford, former knight commander of the Templar order, and Commander of the Inquisition’s forces, and Archon Connor Michael Trevelyan, the Herald of Andraste, Mage of the Inquisition, and the Grand Magus of Thedas.”

News must travel fast about his newfound archon status. Cullen led him into the ballroom where two Orlesian nobles caught them in conversation. Cullen quickly diverted attention away from him saying quickly to Connor, that he was going to get them something to eat and drink. Connor’s stomach rumbled loudly in compliance, all day in the carriage left him starving for a meal.

“So,” asked the Orlesian noblewoman “Is it true, all they’ve said about you? That you walked out of the fade, lead by Andraste herself, that you awakened your powers in a duel to the death with a rouge apostate blood mage?”

Connor flinched at the words ‘blood mage’, but knowing this was about making alliances, tried to be confident and play it off. “All that and more,” he said, “I found my power when I ignited and boiled his very blood.” A partial lie, but a partial truth. The noblewoman ate it up; clapping giddily, she turned to her spouse, speaking even more praises in Connor’s name. Suddenly Connor felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Oh Cullen, I would like to—.”

Connor turned only to meet with a face shrouded in a mask. The eyes were dark, hazy, and bloodshot. The man’s breath reeked of wine, and his grip was like iron. Connor immediately felt out of place and cornered.

The marquis spoke with a slur, “Well if it isn’t the new pretty face of the Chantry.” The man’s grip shifted to Connor’s chin and lower back, “Well you are pretty, and I think the chantry is finally learning we like a hot piece to entice us to pray. So how about you show me what this tight ass can do.” The marquis’ hand slid down, onto Connor’s butt and gripped it roughly, squeezing it and pulling him close. Connor went limp in the marquis arms, and tears welled in his eyes. He could feel the Marquis’ growing member press against him. Connor snapped. All of his memories of the Templars raced into his mind and he struggled against the marquis.

Suddenly the Marquis stopped and Connor finally found his voice and screamed. Cullen, who had been on his way back, dropped the small plate of food he gathered and sprinted to the young boy, who had now collapsed to the floor crying.

            “What happened here,” Cullen shouted, “Someone tell me now.”

            “Commander please calm yourself,” called a voice from atop a staircase, a woman dressed lavishly in silver and lapis descended. Her ebony skin like silk, and her voice commanding yet full of finesse, “this disgraceful creature here, has a penchant for the youthful male. His aunt, the wife of Grand Duke Mollieyt, assured me that he would pose no trouble here tonight. I guess they were mistaken.”

            Cullen helped Connor to his feet, glaring daggers at the frozen marquis, who could only move his eyes.

            “Lady Vivienne De Fer,” said the woman in a deep bow, “Commander Cullen, I do wish I could have greeted you and Grand Magus Connor in better terms. So, what would you like done with the marquis?”

            “Kill him,” bit Cullen, his voice full of malice and ice, “kill him.”

            “Are you sure commander,” asking Vivienne with a quizzical look.

            “Did I stutter,” deadpanned Cullen.

            Vivienne sighed, “Well marquis, you were always a roach, goodbye darling you were nothing but a displeasure.” With a snap of her fingers and a subtle smile, Lady Vivienne reduced the marquis to a bloody stain on the marble floor. The partygoers gasped, and Vivienne made a remark about how it would take three days to remove the stain from the marble tile. Connor looked at Cullen fear and sadness in his eyes.

            “Are you alright,” asked Cullen, wrapping Connor in his arms, “let’s go we can talk to Lady Vivienne in private.”

            “Why did you kill him,” Connor whimpered, “why? He didn’t do any—.”

            “Because he hurt you, he was going to hurt you. Come on the party is dead.” Cullen led Connor back to the carriage; Lady Vivienne followed quickly behind. She told them that the marquis forfeited his life the minute he laid his hands on a guest; he was to cause no problems, or he would face exile from the family. Additionally, Vivienne agreed to help the inquisition and would leave for Haven tomorrow after the gala had ended. Connor was still shaking like a kicked dog, but he managed to keep his composure until the coach doors closed. Then, he reached out and cried into Cullen’s chest until he fell asleep. About an hour into the ride to Haven, a single arrow sliced through a small gap in the window and lodged itself into the padding near Cullen’s head. Cullen startled grabbed the arrow. There was a small piece of red parchment tied to it with a note:

        Dear big high and mightiness,

If you want friends for your cause and pish, head to Val Royeaux, I have contacts that say there is some might big prick after you and I suggest you pay a visit. Head to the docks, café, and the market, and look for signs in red. It’ll help you tend to the meanine and beat his face,

-Friends of Red Jenny

            Cullen opened the window and called to they driver. They had a new location, and the diver changed his heading. Cullen then closed the window and drifted into sleep still holding Connor. Connor and Cullen were off to Val Royeaux to meet these Friends of Red Jenny.


	5. Cataclysm and Companions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Connor come to admittance that they have feelings for one another. The pair have a day in Orlais and come face to face with the infamous Red Jenny. Upon return to have Connor's past comes and unleashes a storm that changes Connor forever. Can Connor and Cullen recover from the Cataclysm of the past.

Cataclysm and Companions

            Arriving in Val Royeaux Cullen looked down at the young mage sleeping in his arms. He felt his heart flitter and brushed some of the long strands of hair out of his eyes. He took in his resting features, the soft lines in his face untroubled with worry or fear. The coach driver called saying that they had arrived and Cullen, regrettably, had to wake the boy. Shaking his shoulder gently, Cullen was able to spirit the boy out of sleep. Connor stirred and blinked his eyes, stretching slightly and pulling himself tighter into Cullen. Cullen sucked in his breath, not knowing what to do, and then Connor’s eyes snapped open. Shooting away, he sat embarrassed against the side of the coach.

“Commander, I-I am so….I didn’t mean to-”

Cullen leaned forward and put a single finger to Connor’s lips, his own placed a gentle kiss on the mage’s forehead. Connor froze, his speech caught in his throat, the heat rushed and his face reddened. Cullen snapped up sputtering, “Oh…I… I mean….are you….Maker’s ass.”

Connor reached his hand around Cullen’s tentatively, entwining his fingers. Cullen squeezed his hand and met his eyes. The young mage looked happy, but nervous. Connor then said, “Cullen…I…yes…yes I am into men, yes I have feelings for you, I…I just never had someone treat me so kindly before, especially a Templar.”

Cullen tightened at the thought of Templars hurting him and he flashed back to his own torture. A pit developed in his stomach, and he squeezed Connor’s hand tighter.

“Connor, I am so sorry for all of that, if you want to talk you can always come to me. I am here for you, and I promise to never hurt you.”

“You don’t care that I am a mage?”

“Mages, in general, can’t be treated like people. They aren’t like you and me,” said Cullen. Connor looked hurt and Cullen chastised himself, “What I mean is that mages are a danger to others and themselves. They can be a threat if they aren’t properly trained, but even if they are, they shouldn’t be treated as you were. They shouldn’t be treated like common people, but they are also people with feelings too.”

Connor felt the tears build in his eyes, the burning urge to cry burn his throat, but this time, it was a smile that sat on his lips. Cullen leaned forward and pulled the young mage into his chest. The pair embraced one another until the coachman called to Cullen asking if he still wished to visit Val Royeaux. Cullen called back to the driver confirming his plans and explained the note and their visitation to the city. Exiting the carriage the two of them walked around the plaza looking for signs of red. Cullen didn’t know when, but somewhere along the way his hand had found Connor’s as they walked. Connor didn’t pull his hand away, only reciprocating his grip. The pair walked the streets and alleyways, taking in the sights and slowly piecing together clues marked in red. Scraps of parchment, a single sock with a note, even a map stuck inside a fish at the docks.

Eventually they came to rest at a café, and Connor set to work to piece the puzzle together. Eventually the notes painted directions on the map from the center plaza to a small-secluded chateau on the outskirts of the city. Cullen suggested that they send a raven to call for assistance, but a small notation called for the meeting to be that night. As the sun sank over the towers and villas, Connor and Cullen followed the map. Pushing past an iron gate, they entered a small garden.

“Okay, now what,” snipped Cullen. Just then, a fireball shot past his face and into the trellis of ivy next to him. His sword arm snapped out and he stepped in front of Connor. Connor had drawn his staff, and both he and Cullen turned to face their adversary. Their foe was a pompous Orlesian noble with a grimoire in his hands.

“So it seems that I have come to be feared by the Inquisition, my name surely has grown,” boasted the Orlesian.

“Ummm who are you,” asked Connor annoyed, “We were told to meet here.”

“Surely, you are mistaken, I know that if you are here my name means worth. I know that I could only be tracked down by the Herald himself, for I am—,” rambled the noble aghast. Connor looked to Cullen and both of them shared looks of extreme confusion.

Suddenly a thin Elven girl rounded a corner. She had short bobbed blond hair cut at jagged angles, and there was a wild fire in her brown eyes. She dressed in a Red over shirt and yellow plaid pants.

“Just say ‘what’”, said the Elven girl bow drawn.

Surprised the noble replied, “What the—.”

The girl loosed the arrow and it pierced the noble’s skull, splattering his blood on the tile with a sickening thud.

“Eww, squishy one, but you heard me right? ‘Just say what.’ Rich tits always try for more than they deserve. Blah blah blah blah, ‘Obey me’, arrow in the face,” said the girl as she pulled the arrow from the corpse with a squelch, “you followed the notes well enough, good to see you’re…kinda plain really. All that talk and then you’re just… a person. I mean it’s all good innit? The important thing is: you glow? You’re the Herald thingy?

“I glow,” asked Connor stunned at the brashness of the girl.

“Yeah, I mean, you, and around you glows. Anyways I here you need people and I have people, so I am here to— shitebags, here comes reinforcements, but surprise they have no breeches,” snorted the girl.

Honest to the elven girl’s word, guards for the noble charged out a side street, all of them in full armour, except for their breeches. The men charged at them armed to the teeth, but much to a humorous effect, they were only in breastplate and smallclothes. Connor and Cullen’s jaws fell, and then they charged into the fray, slinging spells and slashing at the poor pant-less sods. After the strange spar, Connor reproached the girl, with Cullen at his side looking even more confused than when they started this ordeal.

“So, sir high and mighty,” singsonged the girl, “you need people and I have people, I want in to this inqusitory-al thingy. So what do you say?”

“Well firstly who are you, I am Connor Trevelyan, the ‘Herald thingy’, and what do I call you?”

“Well I’m… that’s complicated…out there I am Red Jenny, and here I am Sera. You get it?” Cullen and Connor looked at Sera with an incredulous expression. “What I mean is I am Sera, but out there in the world I am Red Jenny, well here anyways, In Denerim it’s some baker, and in the free marches I think she is three brothers. What I am saying I am me, and I am her too.”

“Oh…okay,” agreed Connor, still trying to piece it all together, “so what can you bring to the inquisition; spies, soldiers, information, or connections?”

“Kinda that pish I guess, I have people. Think like this, big bullies push people around. People get right pissed, and if someone pushed back, the people like them. And, if the people think they caused the big shot to get knocked on his ass, they like the pusher more. Get it? Rich tits need to have a bogeyman, and poor folk need to see one, or think they do. Uppity –ups need to think that the normal folk can’t get them, that only some big shot hero can take them down. Makes them feel important, spreading the rumor, and the little people to someone to look up to. Make sense to you…?”

“She’s completely mad,” whispered Cullen to Connor.

“I kinda get it…I guess,” Connor said to Sera, looking puzzled.

“Kinda like this pus-bucket,” said Sera, gesturing to the corpse on the ground, “bitch-balls over there was some blocked headed prick that like to beat his servants, but all it took was a misplaced stocking and some pissed serving girl, and fwoosh. He’s a dead doornail. Stupid rich bastard.”

Connor nodded and Sera smiled a wickedly mischievous smile. Sera stuck out her hand and Connor shook it, “Welcome to the inquisition Sera, things are going to be fun with you around.”

Cullen smiled and the three of them headed back out of the alley and towards the carriage. Sera talked lively about tales of her outings as Red Jenny, and Connor listened, smiling and laughing at each story. Cullen was glad to see Connor smile. Sera made a remark that even made Cullen laugh; she had inquired whether the inquisition merchants would buy twelve pairs of armored breeches. The trio rode back to Haven and Cullen tried for rest but to no avail. Sera’s mildly psychotic zeal, plus Connor’s innate kindness and curiosity led to several, very loud and very long, discussions.

…

Pulling into Haven Connor immediately knew that something was very, very wrong. Cullen noticed Connor’s tension and then moved to the window to see what set him ridged. Cullen notice Solas and Varric each wore large scowls, their fists curled tight. Each of them had one of their hands wrapped in bandages. Cassandra looked enraged, her face tight and her right hand squeezing the pommel of her longsword, her left, edging the grooves in the handle of a dirk on her belt. Lady Vivienne, who must have arrived earlier, stood with grimace, her arms crossed, but her fingers echoed with violent sparks of fire and lightning. Josephine stood slumped amidst her colleagues, sobbing into a handkerchief. However, Leliana froze his blood. Her blue eyes dark as a storm, her face cold and hard as ice, and the shroud of her hood made her vibrant ginger hair look like rivulets of fire flowing in the wind. Her arms sat limp at her sides, but her fists were clenched tight and shaking.

The trio gingerly exited the coach; Cullen first, followed by Sera, and lastly Connor. The three stood before the group, silence washed over all as the icy wind whipped. Finally Leliana broke the silence, “Connor... we know…..Connor I am so sorry. The Templars had no right to treat you or the other circle mages like that.”

Connor’s blood froze, cold sweat formed on the back of his neck. All of the memories came rushing back to him. His mind snapped, and he felt as if he was a small child surrounded by Templars again. His voice cracked and he spoke, “What… Leliana what are y-you talking about I’m fine, my life is…f-fine.”

“Look at him,” called Vivienne, “He’s like a kicked dog; the poor boy is trying so hard. Connor please dear, we know. We are all well aware—.”

“Guys, really… I don’t k-know what… what…”

“Connor…” breathed Solas.

Crumbling, tears welled in his eyes, “Honestly…. I am fine…I had a g-great l-life in the c-circle…”

“Leliana,” pleaded Cullen, “Please stop now is not the time.”

“Unfortunately Commander, now is the time. We have made the error of inviting the Ostewick circle survivors to join us.”

With that, Connor broke; faltering a little his stance slipped and he fell on the ice. From him came the most pitiful scream; it echoed through the valley silencing every other sound. Around him, the ice began to shatter, and small wisps of fire swirled. The wind howled and roared down from the mountains, and the cloud darkened and formed funnels in the sky. The onlookers braced themselves as the strong gusts threatened to blow them down Connor screamed as the memories surfaced tears freezing and biting his cheeks. The coachman detached the horses and set them free to escape the young mage, as the storm grew and destroyed the carriage, splintering wood and metal.

“Solas, Vivienne,” screamed Cassandra over the wind, “What’s happening, what’s going on?”

“Get everyone out of here Seeker,” ordered Solas.

“The boy has the power to shape the world as a sorcerer, and he is broken,” yelled Vivienne, “Lady Cassandra his powers are ties to his emotions, and he has yet to control them. Since his mind is shattered his powers run wild.”

Cassandra pushed herself up off one knee and moved to gather her companions. Grasping at Varric’s collar, she pulled him back and shoved him towards Leliana and Josephine.

“Take them and find some where safe,” she ordered. Varric didn’t argue, pushing against the raging winds he met the two girls in the chaos and they ran for the gates. Sera ran after them and moved to safety. Solas and Vivienne began to try to calm the storm with barriers.

“We need to calm him now Vivienne,” screamed Solas.

“I am aware; it is just getting to him that proves evasive.”

A large spire of ice shot up from the ground and both mages dove to the side to avoid it. Cassandra was pushed back as a wisp of fire whirled in the wind becoming a fiery cyclone. Both the mages cast a spell of ice, but instead of a small wave of chilled air, a blast of frozen shards shot forth. Connor’s hysteria was beginning to pull at the fade and warp all other magic. Connor’s bloodcurdling scream echoed in the wind and the sky grew darker; bolts of lightning flashed and scorched the ground, large pine trees tore up by their roots, the small village swallowed in the storms destruction. Vivienne and Solas struggled to hold their ground when they noticed a figure next to Connor. Cullen stabbed his sword into the ground and clung to haft as the wind ripped at him. Small shards of sleet cut into his cheeks, as he shouted to Connor against the wind. Using the powers of a knight commander, Cullen pushed out the fade and tried to solidify the veil. The wind around him eased and the vortices of flame began to die down as he crawled towards Connor.

  “Connor, please,” Cullen called, inching his way against the storm, “Connor it’s okay, they aren’t going to hurt you. The Templars are not here; they will not hurt you again. I won’t let them I promise. Connor please. I. Promise. To. Never. Let. Them. Hurt. You.”

…

Solas and Vivienne could only make out the shadow of their companion. They saw a flash of Templar will against magic. The wind slowly began to die down, ice began to knit itself back into regular shapes, fires extinguished, and the sky began to clear, revealing the haze of the evening sun. Amidst the debris kneeled Cullen, bruised and bleeding from small scrapes, holding a sobbing mage. Cullen’s face hung low as he whispered to the young boy trying to calm him. Vivienne looked on, her face softening, and she turned to Solas, “Why did they do that too him? He was just a boy. Promise me this, Apostate, when the time comes, you won’t hold back.”

Solas nodded pain, anger, sadness, and concern echoed in his eyes. Connor’s storm had finally passed and he fell into sleep from exhaustion. The members of the inquisition emerged from Haven’s walls and stepped forward. Sera swore under her breath, saying that his magic was pish, but that Templars had every arrow she had coming for them. Cassandra agreed. The companions moved to help their wounded and unconscious friends back to the camp.

…

Connor awoke screaming drenched in sweat. The sun was glistening in East and the first light of dawn strained in the sky. Washing quickly Connor dressed in linen and leather both the colour of jet, with accents of a deep garnet. Pulling on his ebony cloak, he left his cabin and headed towards the Chantry. As he marched through the ankle high snow, he felt they eyes of the denizens of Inquisition’s forces. He heard them whisper about his past. _Apparently, that’s common knowledge now_ thought Connor bitterly. One soldier made a comment about how Connor was nothing but a Templar’s whore; this set his blood boiling. With malice in his veins, he glared at the soldier and caused a small bolt of lightning to strike near his feet. The forces scattered like mice. Exhausted just from his short stroll Connor pushed his way into the Chantry where he hear the rampant shouts of his companions in the war room. Opening the door all conversation stopped, and he was met with a mix of stares. Sadness, pity, and concern all present on the faces before him.

“Connor,” Josephine stuttered, “How are you-”

“I’m fine,” snapped Connor, his voice sharp and acrid, “I don’t want to talk about it. I am here for business.”

Josephine winced and then stood silent. Connor was surprised at his own callous tone; he didn’t want to hurt his friend he just needed to be left alone. The world knew his secret his pain, he didn’t want their pity or sadness, he just wish it all never happened. His eyes met Cullen’s and the two shared a glance. Cullen’s spoke, _please just let us…let me in_ , and Connor only replied with an icy glare that screamed, _no_.

Cassandra broke the silence and the tension grew, “Business then, alright. We need allies to bolster our strength. There is a mercenary group on the Storm Coast called _The Bull’s Chargers_ , there is also a rumor of a Grey Warden called Blackwall in the Hinterlands, and finally there are faction groups. We can try to talk to the Mages in Redcliffe, or we can try to ally with the Tem-”

“The Mages,” bit Connor, “I will never ally with another Templar again, fucking monsters. I will ride to the Storm Coast, and then I will move to the Hinterlands. Is that all, may I leave?”

“But the Templars are good,” defended Cullen, “I know some of them they want to help—”

“I said we are siding with the Mages!”

“Not all Templars are like the ones at Ostewick”

“I would sooner watch ‘The Breach’ swallow us all then ever side with another Templar again.”

The council stood silent as the argument raged. Connor’s words tore at Cullen. How little did he trust him? Moreover, Connor felt his heart ache and shatter that Cullen would try to defend other Templars hadn’t he seen enough.

“I saw the memory stones Connor,” yelled Cullen, “I know what they did, and I promise you the Templars at Therinfal Redoubt are good men.”

Connors words were ice, and they were directed at the Templars and Cullen, “I will never have good will with a Templar again, and if any of the _ones_ here goes to touch me, I will reduce them to cinder. As for the Ostewick Templars, when they arrive, the Mages can stay, but pray I am not here to see the Templars. I will kill each and every one.”

Connor turned and stormed out of the council, leaving everyone stunned as to his callous behavior. Slowly people turned to leave, exiting one by one until only Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen remained. Leliana turned and took Josephine under her arm as she wept.

“Josie, it’s not your fault please you didn’t know about their cruelty.” Josephine only shed more tears as her friend held her. “Cullen,” whispered Leliana, “are you okay? We all knew that he would be hurt by the memories, but we…I did not—”

“Leliana, please just go. Take care of Lady Josephine, and make sure Connor has some protection on his excursion.” Leliana nodded and led herself and Josephine out of the council room leaving Cullen alone. Cullen smashed his fists into the table splintering the oak slab. Defeated, he sunk to the ground, crying. He had lost the boy, how could he? He of all people knew his pain.


	6. Just a Hop to the Left and a Step through Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor and Cullen have grown apart. Cullen at Haven and Connor risking life and limb to gather forces. Traveling, Connor will storm the enemy with a bull, attempt a parlay with Mages, and make a new "Sassy" friend as they take a trip of a life time.

Just a Hop to the Left and a Step through Time

The days that followed were full of animosity and rage. Connor struck fear in the hearts of the enemy and moved his way north to the Storm Coast. Scout Harding came to report and immediately his demeanor changed; he greeted her with a smile, and chatted lively about the craziness of the torrential downpour that they were caught in, and the poor scouts who forgot to tarp their tent. Solas and Cassandra noticed that his mood was only foul when he worked with the soldiers under Cullen or the other Templar’s teaching. Leliana’s spies and scouts sympathized with him, but they treated him no different and he like that. To them he was still the lively young Mage, but now he just had a little more scraper mentality. Sera, though very wary of his magic, liked the young Mage and they became friends. She would often be found cheering him up and making him laugh. Connor appreciated her companionship and often, much too humorous effect; goad on her affection to Harding. Scout Harding would laugh and the two began to develop the beginnings of a bond. Connor appreciated that no one found it odd that an Elf and a Dwarf were able to share romantic feelings.

The Storm Coast was a vast stretch of land riddled with Dwarven ruins, caves, inlets, and endless stone beaches. Large monstrous waves battered and grasped at the expansive beaches. Lighting would flash brightly and riddle the sky. Occasionally a bolt would pierce and boil the water, resulting in a large his. Other times the swift fingers would snap at trees scorching them. Pushing against the elements, the party moved down the coast. Solas would cast small spells that would disperse the rain for a time, and Cassandra took those moments to consult the map she had brought. Moving farther down the edge of a slope, they encountered a band of fighters charging at men dressed in strange Tevinter armor. A large Qunari charged at them brandishing a great-axe. Bursting through the armored opposition the Qunari gorged men with his horns, slashing and laughing wildly. His movements at first looked reckless, but upon closer inspection, each was calculated and positioned for maximum lethality. Limbs were hacked away in a bloody dance. Entrails dangled from his horns, adorning his broad face in a gruesome laurel.

“Haha damn Vints got what was coming to them. No offense Krem but damn bloody Vints fight like shit, they should have known better than to challenge us. I am Iron-Fucking-Bull.”

Connor stood lock jawed at the sight before him. The large Qunari was a fortress of muscle; his features broad but sharp, his skin ashen, his muscles large and domineering. Connor reckoned that he could probably snap a sword in two with just his bare hands. The Qunari’s face was jovial, even splattered in blood. One eye had and eyepatch and was adorned with deep scars the other an icy blue. Slight grey stubble adorned his jawline and his broad horns bloody and had fine points.

Turning to Connor he spoke, “So you’re the Herald I have heard so much about, alright let’s cut to the chase, I have men, some kick-ass men, and you need people. If you hire them you get the men but you also get me.”

“Well that sounds interesting, how does that work now?”

“My men help like any other fighter in your force, except they are better, and I work by your side. I’ll kill anything from demons to dragons. We are expensive but we are worth the cost. Also, I am going to be upfront with you. The Ben-Hasrath wants me to spy on you; I give them information on this ‘Herald’ and ‘The Breach.’ But, I can also give you access to their reports as well, what do you say?”

Slightly peeved that he was being evaluated by the Ben-Hasrath, Connor accepted the terms. Bull called for his ‘Chargers’ and they moved to aid Connor as they cleared the coast of the Tevinter warriors, the Venatori. Bull immediately became friends with Connor; he enjoyed that even though he was a Mage he could still charge the enemy and knock someone on their ass. Connor also like Bull’s demeanor, he was joking yet serious and the ways of the Qunari interested him. The two bonded in battle; Connor would freeze a reaver, and Bull would shatter him into shards of crimson ice, Bull would move to bash an opponent and Connor would follow it with a kick smashing them back into Bull’s blade. One charge had Connor and Cassandra laughing and Solas astounded; Sera had climbed onto Bull’s shoulders, and using his height and mass to her advantage, she loosed arrows as Bull minced the enemies below. The two had turned themselves in the human personification of a mobile siege tower. The party progressed until they cleared the coast, and established Inquisition camps to hold the grounds. After claiming control of the Storm Coast, the war party moved back to the Hinterlands to treat with the Mages.

            Solas took to being Connor’s mentor, teaching the young mage all he could. The pair would go off and sleep, exchanging knowledge in the fade practicing old magic and developing new skills. Solas even taught Connor how to enter the dreams of others, which he immediately used to help Sera prank Iron Bull, much to Solas’ disappointment. Connor’s slowly began to trust aging, realizing that these people were his friends and that they care for him. Solas noticed small changes in Connor, his features becoming sharper, his pupils narrowing slightly, his ears starting to peak, the changes small now, only visible to most persistent observer.

            One evening Connor said his goodbyes and left his companions at the fire. He retired to his tent, and moved to sleep among the massive bearskin blanket Bull had given him one night when he said he was cold. Connor drifted off into sleep and his mind began to wander the Fade. Slowly he felt himself pulled in a direction of a familiar scent, cloves and cinnamon. There he stood amongst the shifting dreamscape as Cullen was surrounded by hooded figures. The figure lashed out with knives, and Connor saw that they were blood Mages. The figures used their blood to cause Cullen’s to boil; they pried at his mind, and delved into his nightmares. Connor rushed forward and moved to attack the mages. Swiping at them, his hands fell through them like mist. Connor screamed trying to break Cullen’s concentration. Cullen’s head slowly turned until he locked eyes with Connor and looked shocked. There was a flash and suddenly Connor woke up panting and breathless in his tent.

…

            Cullen remembered lying in his bed, the days have been more trying, and his heart heavy. He chastised himself for falling for the young Mage and tossed in his bed with a sigh of frustration. Sleep came quickly and so did the nightmares. Memories of his past in the Ferelden circle. The apostates and blood mages, what they did to him, what they made him see, what they made him witness. The torture, death, and mutation of his friends. His personal hell to haunt him. Then a voice calling to him. He listened and begged for the nightmares to cease if only for a moment, and they did. Turning, he saw a kind face, lavender eyes, and golden and bronze hair. He felt himself start to smile, then a light sent it all away and he shot up in bed sitting dazed and confused.  

…

            Both men sat in their beds, both questioning whether it was real or if it was trick of a dream. Connor laid back and fell asleep his heart burning with conflicted emotions, Cullen turned again burying his face in the down of the pillow. His mind racing and then he steeled his will. _No more_ he thought _no more of this conflicted heart nonsense. Connor, if he would ever take him back as a friend, would be nothing more. His only love gave her life in the last blight to save them all_.

…

            Arriving in the Hinterlands, the party was greeted by a large crowd. Children cheered, fathers and mothers called names of praise, young girls giddily crowded Connor, throwing themselves at him. Connor blushed unsure of what to do earning a peal of laughter from his companions. Taking a respite in the town of Redcliffe, the party took time to resupply, Solas and Cassandra took cues from Bull to use Connor’s popularity with the young women to barter themselves better deals at the market stalls. Connor smiled shyly and the vendors were smitten, nearly everything they bought was a quarter of the actual price.

            Moving through the throngs of people and the bustling market, Connor, Solas, and Bull made their way to the inn to, hopefully, make allies of the Rebel Mages. Entering the inn Connor caught view of Grand Enchanter Fiona, and on either side of her two Tevinter Magisters that wore glares of ice.

            “Ahh ‘The Herald of Andraste’ comes to pay honors to the new alliance of Mages? I do hope you understand that I welcome you to the ‘Tevinter’ Magisterium in Redcliffe. I am Garon Alexius, and I am pleased to finally meet you,” sneered Magister Alexius.

            “Well, I thank you for the honor,” replied Connor through clenched teeth, “I am Connor Michael Trevelyan. I _actually_ came here to follow a request for alliance from Grand Enchanter Fio—”

            “Yes well, all and all she has sworn the mages in service to Tevinter Imperium. So, I believe that means that you now wish to ally with myself, to which I humbly decline.”

            Connor bit his tongue to hold the insults he had for the arrogant magister. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw as a figure fell forward and he moved to catch them. It was the other Magister, his eyes lulled, and Connor helped him to his feet.

            “Felix,” called Alexius with concern, “I believe it is time for us to retire. Herald if you don’t mind I am going to take my leave and escort my son to the healers.”

“Father, I am fine,” groaned Felix, “I honestly feel fine, there’s no need to worry.”

            Alexius cut him off and led him from the inn, Grand Enchanter Fiona followed behind him, eyes sad and downcast. Iron Bull and Solas came up to Connor asking what the commotion was about. Connor explained, and then he told them they need to head to the Chantry here in Redcliffe, Felix had faked his fainting spell to slide Connor a note saying that he was in danger. The three men left the inn quickly and proceeded towards the Chantry. Upon reaching the outer doors, the trio could hear sounds of combat inside. Bull rushed the doors slamming them open to reveal a single Tevinter Mage incinerating a shade.

            “Well, it’s about damn time you showed,” sassed the Tevinter a glint of mischief in his eye, “I presume you can help me with this, I have to say this is a rather drab party and the guest are absolutely _monstrous_.”

            Bull charged forward unsheathing his great-axe, he moved to decapitate more demons as they spawned from the rift. Solas lobbed fireballs at the Despair Demons that formed, to which the Tevinter Mage snarked about “Frozen Hags” and assisted in the inferno. Connor took this as an opportunity to try to seal the Fade rift. Moving forward he stepped into a circle of energy coming from the rift, all of his motions jetted forward. Moving at a pace, he never thought possible; Connor reached out and slammed the rift shut. The demons shuttered and then dissolved into nothing.

            The Magister then turned to the rescue party. He looked to be in his late twenties, but his expressions made him look older. He dressed in an open armed robe, adorned with leather armor. His face was sleek and angular, his eyes a stormy grey. His hair was cut similarly to Connor’s, but his face was framed by the curled, oiled, mustache, and goatee that he wore. His skin was a sun-kissed bronze. He wielded a staff made of coiled silverite: the staff blade a curved hook and the, the topper a small blue shard of lyrium.

            “Well thank you for your assistance; I am Dorian of House Pavus. Yes I am a magister you can now proceed to scream and make threats of violence.” The Magister took a deep bow and glanced back at the trio, “Ohh this is a first, no cliché threats of ‘evil Tevinter blood mage’ or the ever popular ‘kill him before he tries to rip open the Black City, _again_.”

            Connor snorted and used his staff for support as he broke out into laughter.

“Why….why would I….threaten you,” asked Connor bleary eyed and breathless, “you fought the same….same demons as us. Oh Maker, did you hear guys, rip open the Black City _again_.”

Dorian smiled at the young mage, Solas lowered his guard, and Bull only cussed about ‘Vints doing weird shit’ for five minutes. Felix entered, exhausted, and explained that his father has joined the cult of Tevinter from the Storm Coast, the Venatori. He used time magic to rip a rift so he could arrive before the mages sent a plea to the inquisition, and recruit them for himself. Dorian agreed to this informing them that he was Alexius’ apprentice at one point and they worked together on a time magic experiment, but it failed. Therefore, he theorized Alexius was using the natural rift energy to stabilize the spell matrix. Connor nodded along his mind whirling.

“So Dorian, would you be up for paying the new Arl of Redcliffe a visit,” asked Connor, “we could use the help and you have a background in his magic.”

“I would be so delighted, but only if _your_ charming self is my escort.”

Connor nodded with a slight smirk, Felix said that he had to return to his father’s new castle, but he would send them messages and any information that he could garnish from his father. Connor strode out of the Chantry with Dorian, Solas and Iron Bull in tow. None of them knew how far Alexius had fallen, and how far they would be going.

…

Cullen entered the war room and Leliana and Josephine were angrily working. Josephine writing letters and sealing them with golden wax faster than Chantry scribe, and Leliana was releasing raven after raven, he orders short and sealed with black wax. The two worked efficiently arms crossing and grabbing inkwells and papers, but never colliding or spilling a drop. Cullen coughed lightly and the pair looked up at him their hands never stopping.

“I take it that you two have received Connor’s raven?”

The girls nodded, and Cullen proceeded to lay out a map of Redcliffe. They discussed vantage points and the possibilities of traps and ambush. Josephine and Cullen argued how they were going to get inquisition men into castle, but Leliana had the answer to their dilemma. She pointed to an old windmill on a ridge near the outskirts of the castle.

“That’s our way in,” explained the spymaster, “There is a small escape passage that leads to the dungeon of the keep. It’s not wide, but it is large enough to get a small surprise force for a tactical advantage.”

“How did you know about this tunnel Leliana, it’s not in the legend on the map,” asked Josephine.

“Well, I used it. During the blight when I traveled with Myra, the Hero of Ferelden. We had to sneak into the castle to rescue the Arl from an abomination. Mira was rather brilliant and always thought ahead,” sighed Leliana, “I have to admit it is uncanny how much of Myra I see in Connor.”

Cullen’s breath hitched.

“Both of them were mages way beyond the caliber for their age, both were charming and soft spoken, Connor even more so. I know that Myra had a hard past too, from what she told me, the Dalish did not take kindly to her so she was often the brunt end of much outcry.”

Cullen sat in silence, his heart heavier than before, he had been cruel to Myra during the siege of the Ferelden circle, and now he was enduring similar cruelty from Connor. Was it poetic justice, or was it the Maker being and ironic asshole.

…

The following day Connor arrived at Redcliffe Castle. Venatori guards escorted him into the castle’s main hall; along with Sera, Iron Bull, Cassandra, Solas, and Dorian. Connor arrived and saw Alexius sitting on the Arl’s throne, and his blood began to boil. Alexius lazily waved away an Elven mage that was acting as his servant, and Sera cussed him for treating the elves so poorly. Alexius merely ignored her, turning his attention to Connor.

“And here I thought that you would come alone? Even with all of your companions, you still have no authority here. As for you Dorian, you disappoint me. We could’ve helped the ‘Elder One’ together. With both of us, we could reach eternity in the eyes of Tevinter,” lectured Alexius.

“No, just no. Alexius what you are doing will tear apart the veil and Fade. Ripping holes in time will cause irreparable ramifications to the entire world,” yelled the young Tevinter, “you don’t just act as a threat here to your enemies, but as a threat to your son.”

“He’s right,” called Connor, “and also we do have the upper hand.”

Tevinter guards cried out in pain and surprise as inquisition agents struck; their blades cutting throats to the bone, piercing through armor and cutting sinew and ribs. Men fell to their knees, the light of life leaving their eyes as their blood pooled on the stone floor. Cornered Alexius pulled out his staff and a charm. He fired a bolt of lightning that caused the group to split, all the while the amulet glowed brighter feeding on the energy of the fade. Connor and Dorian dogged to the left, and fired their own spells while falling. The spells broke Alexius’ concentration and the amulet went off. It ripped open a tear in Fade and the portal swallowed the two mages leaving nothing but scorched ashes, and the members of the inquisition alone to face Alexius.


	7. A Glimpse of a Fallen Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being thrown through the Fade, Connor and Dorian must endure the future. This future is wrong though, everything that was has changed. Things that once were are no longer, and kind eyes now burn with rage and betrayal. This is the future without the Herald, this is a future where Connor dies.

A Glimpse of a Fallen Future

Dorian and Connor fell, or it felt like falling as they tumbled through the rift. Their decent came to a sudden end when Connor landed face down in a pool of water gathering on a stone floor. Dorian landed beside him, slipping and falling to his side. Both Mages groaned from the pain, and cussed under their breath. Looking around, they could see that they were in one of the cells of the keep. It was dark and the floor was flooded with several inches of water, much to Dorian’s dismay, as it soaked them both. The walls were illuminated by rotting veil fire torches, but the ever present glow came from the large masses of red lyrium that were growing raggedly out of the walls and floor. Connor and Dorian edged away from it and began to discus their situation.

“What in the name of Andraste’s ass happened,” asked the young mage.

“Well my young friend,” quipped Dorian, “it looks as though you and I are, firstly, still in Redcliffe castle, but I don’t know _when_ , and secondly, are soaking wet and about to be under attack. So turn that charming ass of yours around and fire a spell”

Just then, two Tevinter guards burst through the door and moved to attack them. These guards fought viciously and their eyes glowing a bright red. One moved to slash at Dorian’s throat and when she missed, her blade cut into one of the other guards, crippling his arm. The other guard charged forward ignoring that one of his arms was now not usable, and he lunged at Connor. Connor lashed out with a bolt of fire that reduced the pair two ash. Two more lunged after Dorian; bring their swords down in a wide arc above their heads. Dorian brought his staff up with one hand catching the blades, and with the other, he froze their feet in the water around their ankles. Sweeping to the right he brought the curved blade across their throats, slitting them. Before they could hit the ground, a purple aura encompassed the two guards and they stood tall not moving.

“Now that that is all done and over with,” huffed Dorian, “let me explain. No this is not blood magic I am a—“

“Mortalitasi, you’re a necromancer. That would have been useful to know like ten minutes ago. You know, when we were back in our own time,” snarked Connor.

“Well you can see why I don’t shout it to every passerby I meet. Really, a Tevinter Mage who can raise the dead; sounds like blood magic to me. You only know the difference because you were taught it. It is not a luxury that I have in most companions.”

Connor opened his mouth and shut it again, “Dorian, I am sorry I didn’t mean to snap. Besides, I…I am a blood mage, I mean I know how to do it, well kinda.”

“Really now,” said Dorian with mild intrigue, he made the two corpses undo the doors and lead them through the dungeons, “tell me about this as we take a leisurely stroll through this nightmare.”

“Well it’s nothing special, as you have probably guessed now, I am the Grand Magus. Because of that I guess I have a proclivity to all forms of magic, so I can do blood magic.”

“So, you didn’t go all dark side and make a deal with a demon in despair, or you had some vengeful vendetta and sell your soul so you could gain power. Well, how utterly non-melodramatic of you, hardly the way things go about. If you keep that good boy behavior up people might actually being to trust Mages,” sassed Dorian as they proceeded through a set of doors into a new cellblock.

A groan pulled them out of conversation and the two stopped to see their companions locked into cells. Connor let out a small cry when he saw that, from their bodies, red lyrium was growing and piercing through their skin. Dorian gripped his staff tightly and swore.

“Connor…Connor is that you,” Cassandra’s voice croaked, her face scarred and beaten. Large shards sprouted from her sides and her neck, “I saw…we all saw you two burn. That was a year ago.”

Iron Bull called callously, “I swear to whomever wants it, if this is some Vint trick by Alexius I will shove my horns so far up his—”

“What in the flying shite-balls,” yelled Sera, “Nope, no no no no no, you’re not real, I saw you die. Nope I ain’t going to believe this.

Connor’s heart fell, “Sera, please, it is me it really is me. We didn’t die, Alexius used time magic and we were thrown here. Please.”

Tears welled in Connor’s eyes and Sera turned, her eyes glowing a deep red. She reached out and touched his cheek tentatively, wiping away the tears.

“It really is you, isn’t it? You still glow, shite magic is making it fuzzy, but you are still you. I guess I am just a little more red now huh?”

Connor smiled and brought his staff down on the locks, the blunt end smashed the corroded metal and the doors fell from their hinges. Connor turned to look at his friends and then told them the plan. They were going to march on Alexius and take his charm. Then, Dorian would use it to focus rift energy to create another portal to their own time stopping all of this madness before it begins. The party nodded with resolve and headed through the maze of tunnels that were before them. A voice rang out over the sound of water hitting stone, “Tell us what you know you stupid bitch.”

There was silence and the sound of someone being struck multiple times. Connor rushed through the door and found a Templar interrogating a figure dressed in purple. He turned and moved to confront them, but as he did, the figure in purple flung their legs around his neck choking him. With a quick twist of their body, the Templar’s neck snapped and he collapsed to the ground revealing Leliana. Leliana’s face was riddled with scars and wrinkles, her eyes cold and vacant, her armour rent and torn along the shoulder. Connor rushed forward and cut her free from her bonds.

“You,” she snapped, “you left us. You let us all face the end of days alone. The ‘Elder One’ marched on Orlais killing Empress Celene and raised a demon army to sweep over all of Thedas.”

“Leliana,” Connor begged, “I promise you that none of this is real none of this was suppose to happen. This isn’t reality.”

Leliana glared at him icily, “This is _our_ reality, we suffered it, you may have been free from the sight be the rest of us watched as the world burned. You left us, and we suffered through the storm.”

Turning sharply she snatched a longbow off the ground and slung a quiver over her shoulder. She tested the bowstring and looked at them expectantly, eyes shifting forward telling them to _move_. Connor wiped the tears welling in his eyes and he moved to charge Alexius. The party marched through the castle fighting Templars and Venatori; both groups had the same red eyes and zombie-like behavior. They fought their way through waves of demons and the mindless soldiers, until they finally found Alexius in the grand hall.

“I knew I didn’t kill you, I knew it,” Alexius spoke, but all the vitality in his voice gone, “but it is too late now. The ‘Elder One’ comes for us all. He lied to me, he said we would rule together, but this is nothing to rule, this is only chaos and death. Only Felix remains.”

Felix stepped forward and the party stood astounded. His face was pale and blank, his eyes hazed and cold. He only spoke in small grunts and spittle ran down his chin. His body may be living but his mind was dead. He was Felix no more. Dorian shouted in rage and screamed at Alexius for what he had done to his son. Leliana rushed the pair and grabbed Felix; brandishing a dagger to his throat, she turned to Alexius eyes full of icy malice.

“Give them the amulet and let them fix this now.”

“It’s futile girl,” Alexius pleaded, “can’t you see ‘He’ comes for us now.”

“The amulet. NOW,” screamed Leliana; drawing the edge of the blade slightly, making Felix bleed.

“Unhand my son you bitch!”

“He’s not your son anymore, Give us the Amulet!”

“Please Leliana, we can just take it from him he’s bro—”

“Yes Connor, you’re right we can just take it,” hissed Leliana. Her eyes narrowed and she drew the blade across Felix’s throat. His eyes widened momentarily, and he smiled as the blood poured from his neck. He was finally free.

Alexius went mad; drawing his staff, he collapsed to the ground and emitted a pitiful, heart-wrenching, scream. His head snapped forward and his eyes burned with rage. He charged at Leliana, blasting here away from the corpse of his son. She hit the ground hard and rolled into a column, jarring her. Connor rushed to her aid and his friends charged Alexius. Iron bull moved to slice him with the edge of his great axe, but Alexius slid to a rift and jumped across the room. He then began to summon demons shouting how he would kill them all for Felix. Sera, Cassandra, and Bull began to take on the magister’s demonspawn. Cassandra, even weakened by the red lyrium growing out of her, fought with a dancer’s grace. Her longsword whistling as it cut through the air and demons alike. Sera and Bull fought back to back; Sera would fire arrow after arrow, head, hear, throat, eye socket, all pierced. Bull would wait for them to move on himself and the small elven girl, and then he would lash out slicing them with his axe. The pair worked beautifully, Sera picking off enemies from afar, and nimbly dodging Bull’s axe as he swung it around decapitating demon after demon.

While the three of them fought off waves of demons, Leliana, Dorian, and Connor were left to manage Alexius. Dorian, enraged by all that was done, summoned as many corpses as he could from the fallen and sent them after Alexius. Their will was his, and as Dorian fought and became angrier, the army of the dead started to fight with even more ferocity. Leliana began to launch arrows at the Magister. Whistling and whirring, the sleek shafts cut through the air and found their mark. One pierced Alexius’ shoulder; another pierced his thigh. The Magister lashed out with a pulse of energy shattering the remaining arrows mid-flight. Connor took this as an opportunity. Working in tandem with Dorian, he called forth a wave of icy spikes, willing them towards Alexius in a wide cone. Dorian countered with a large plume of blue fire, and willed the dead to fight with all the rage in his heart. Alexius was forced to throw up an enervated barrier to guard from all sides. The fire and ice clashed and the two spells exploded; the explosion consumed the dead on either side of the blast. In the aftermath, a large cloud of thick black smog flooded the room; it smelled of the burn of magic and charred flesh. The scent of death covered the scene as Connor and Dorian were knocked to the floor. Alexius stood and leaned heavily on his staff. Just as he straightened his back to stand and arrow sliced through the smoke and pierced his heart, a second followed shortly piercing the center of his skull.

All Connor could hear was a constant ringing as his vision began to focus. His eyes saw the arrows pierce the mage before him. He watched slowly as the man collapsed under his own weight, his body now vacant of all life. The amulet, that was so coveted, fell from his grip and rolled towards Dorian. The spymaster approached the fallen corpse and gave one final look of disgust before turning to Connor helping him to stand. Dorian had already set to work as the remainder of the group met with them. They were going to regroup and assess the situation, but then the castle shuddered. The ceiling caved and buckled, as a monstrous roar echoed across the hall.

“You’re all dead, ha-ha….he’s here,” groaned a Templar dying on the floor.

“What, who’s here,” Leliana demanded, grabbing the dying man by the collar, “Tell us now I won’t ask again.”

The Templar remained silent. The silence only fed Leliana’s rage and she made it come to and end. She flexed her hand and dug her fingers into an open wound in the Templar’s shoulder. The young man screamed and struggled against her. Leliana held strong pressing harder and twisting her fingers.

“Oh Maker, the ‘Elder One’ the “Elder One’, Maker please make it st—”

Leliana snapped his neck with a flick of her wrists plunging the hall back into silence. The members of her party stared at her, fear and shock written on their faces.

“We’ve no time for this, we have to defend Connor and Dorian so they can fix this mess now lets move. Sera, Bull, you two will be our first line of defense. Sera take these arrows and do not waste a single one.” The pair nodded and left the hall quickly. “Cassandra you will be the guard at the front of the hall you will stall anything that overcomes the others. Connor Dorian you need to work fast, you do not have a lot of time.”

Just then, the sounds of combat began to echo through the halls. Large crashed echoed and the ground shook. Connor could hear Sera’s screams of rage, and Bull’s axe clashing on armor. Dorian began inscribing runes on the amulet with a shard of lyrium; cries echoed out and Sera’s voice disappeared. Bull yelled in rage and then silence. The companions stood, frozen in fear as the sound of movement grew. Connor went to speak when the halls doors burst open and a flood of shades swarmed Cassandra. Her blade cut through them in a razor storm, and her shield swung out breaking blows and limbs alike. As Cassandra cut down the final shade, she turned to her companions, but her revel was cut short as a long sword found home on the back of her knees. She screamed as she fell, her legs cut and crippled. A figure in a Templar crest stepped up and grabbed her hair wrenching her head back. Silently the figure whipped his sword down and away. Cassandra’s body fell too the ground, as a cruel smile grew on the Templars face. His lip brandishing a small scar. The Templar lazily tossed his hand and Cassandra’s head sailed through the air and landed at Connor’s feet with a splattering of blood.

“Well that was disappointing,” said Cullen in a cold voice. His speech was cruel and distant, but his expression showed one of amusement, “tell me that you can put up a better fight, otherwise, Connor, Ostewick will seem like a reprieve after I am done with you.”

Connor’s words caught in his throat and his face drained of all blood. He looked on as Cullen walked calmly towards them; his once golden eyes now bloodshot and narrow, his pale skin peppered with blood, and his kind face now twisted and disfigured with shards of red lyrium.

“Dorian we have to go now,” Connor begged.

“I am trying, just give me more time dammit!”

“We don’t have any!”

Leliana had used Cullen’s distraction to notch an arrow and let it fly. The arrow found home in Cullen’s heart, but he just turned to Leliana pulling the arrow from his chest. Leliana drew her dagger and charged the Templar. He quickly stepped to the side and shoved his blade into her chest. Her cry echoed against the cold walls. Connor screamed and grabbed the amulet, and the lyrium runes flared to life. A portal formed and began to swallow them.

“How could you Cullen,” called Connor, “how could you become the ‘Elder One’ and kill your friends?”

Cullen Called back his voice was ice, “I am not the ‘Elder One’, and as for killing you; I was forced to host red lyrium, and _you_ left me to endure Hell _alone_.”

Connor stood stunned as the portal swallowed Dorian and himself. His absence had destroyed Cullen and it crippled the inquisition. He swore to himself, to never let this future happen.

…

Cassandra watched, as a cornered Alexius pulled out his staff and a charm. He fired a bolt of lightning that caused the group to split, all the while the amulet glowed brighter feeding on the energy of the fade. Connor and Dorian dogged to the left, and fired their own spells while falling. The spells broke Alexius’ concentration and the amulet went off. It ripped open a tear in Fade and the portal swallowed the two mages leaving nothing but scorched ashes, and the members of the inquisition alone to face Alexius.

Moments later a rift tore open in front of their eyes and the two mages strolled out of it, unharmed. Connor turned and the amulet flashed brightly closing the rift. Connor’s companions stood stunned and Connor charged Alexius. He grabbed the older mage and slammed him into the wall. He willed his hands to burn and fire took hold on Alexius’ Collar.

“Connor enough please,” called Dorian, “look he’s defeated, he’s given up.”

Connor let the mage go but, with a shattered voice, “Why, why would you do this, you know what will come of all this. It is because of people like you, Mages like you, that our kind and all of Tevinter is hated. You all just gladly sit and watch the world burn just for the sake of your own selfish desires. You ruin us, and it is because of people like you that we are persecuted and hunted.”

His friends sat stunned, as the young mage faltered. His words cut deep and the mages that began to gather stood frozen. Inquisition forces bound Alexius and led him away for trial, and Grand Enchanter Fiona walked up to the young boy, his eyes wet and a single tear traced down the purple ink of his tattoo. She placed her hand on his shoulder and he tensed up only for a moment. He turned to face her, gathering his composure, “Grand Enchanter, I beg you please, would you join the forces of the inquisition? I need you, the Inquisition needs you, and Thedas needs to see the mages fighting for what’s right.”

“I can now say, with the most satisfaction, that the Mages of Thedas will ally with the Inquisition. Connor Trevelyan, Grand Magus of Thedas, I accept your offer.”

Connor and Fiona shook hand and the hall erupted into cheers. A sudden fanfare broke out over the cries and King Alistair and Queen Anora entered the hall. Both of them were outraged by the Tevinter insurgence that drove the Arl and his citizens out of Redcliffe. Amidst the Queen’s admonishments, Connor stepped forward silencing her, much to her outrage and the King’s amusement. He carefully explained the events leading to the insurgence and then asked the royal family for support. Queen Anora quickly denied Connor and left the hall, but King Alistair, seeing a familiar spark in Connor he hadn’t seen for a long time, offered the Inquisition full support from the Crown. The young Archon thanked him for his gracious assistance, paying no mind to the enraged Queen.

…

Fire, pain, blood, death, fire, pain, blood, and death. Cullen awoke in the dark his skin soaking through his sheets, his breath ragged. Who would have thought it would get this hard. To cut it out was difficult, but the nightmares too, he felt like a feverish child. The nightmares only worsened on nights like this, and his very skin felt foreign; it was clammy and cold but his head burned and felt like it would burst. Connor’s raven arrived the morning prior saying that, he not only, allied with the mages, but he also hired the _Bull’s Chargers_ and recruited the Warden Blackwall only the night before. Connor would arrive within the fortnight and much to everyone’s dismay so would the Ostewick Circle.


	8. An End to all Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor returns bringing new allies to the Inquisition. Upon his arrival his past is there to greet him. Have the experiences the young Mage endured damaged his resolve, or can he rise to quiet the storm. Cullen and Connor endure the height of their struggles. The mission of the Inquisition comes to a close.

An End to all Things

            Haven was buzzing with commotion and energy. Connor was returning with in the hour, and with him he would bring and entire force of their newly acquired allies the Mages. Furthermore, Haven was abuzz with the following plan, that once the Mages arrive they would help lead a march on the breach to close it for good. Whereas this was all good news, there was also an extreme sense of anxiety; The Ostewick circle of Magi, and the Templars were also arriving within the hour too.

            Cullen had his people running drill in the yard, and his squires were running messages between himself, Josephine, and Leliana. Scouts were training and sparing, soldiers were running drills and going through inventory maintenance, and nobles were escorted through the desired areas of Haven to encourage support. The three council members themselves were also busy; developing plans, gathering information, and writing correspondence to patrons respectively. The trio were finally about to discuss the matter of Connor’s arrival and the arrival of the Ostewick circle when, ‘Witty Ritz’ came up and reported that Connor had just arrived at the front gate.

            Josephine grabbed her two friends and hurried them to the gates to give Connor and the others a proper welcome. Upon arrival, the trio was shocked; Connor rode at the head of the march flanked by Iron Bull and Blackwall. Grand Enchanter Fiona followed them in line with Cassandra, Sera, Solas, and Dorian. Behind them marched a large battalion of Mages; men and women of all ages, and all races. Connor Rode forward his Black cloak catching the chilled wind, his face strong and Confident. He stopped Frozen Wind before the councilors and dismounted.

“Commander Cullen, Lady Leliana, Lady Josephine I give you the free Mages of Thedas. They are under the Command of Grand Enchanter Fiona. I also would like to introduce the Grey Warden Blackwall, Leader of the _Bull’s Chargers_ Iron Bull, and Dorian of House Pavus, the Tevinter Magister who helped a great deal in the defeat and imprisonment of Alexius.”

            The aforementioned personages nodded, waved, or in Dorian’s case took a grandiose bow. Connor ordered the Mages to make themselves at home, and set up their barracks. Josephine called for a small entourage of squires to lead the Mages to their barracks area. The young archon then began to recount all of the events that took place at Redcliffe Castle. The councilors stood stunned and shocked as Connor revealed the ‘Elder One’s’ goal, and what had happened to them in the future. Cullen stood shocked and gave Cassandra a mournful glance. She patted his shoulder and told him that that future would never happen now that they know what the enemy is planning.

            “Cullen,” called the young mage, pulling him aside, “I would like to speak with you later after the charge on ‘The Brea—”

            A loud procession of horses broke their conversation; mares of every colour adorned with the banner of the Ostewick Circle. The emblem of and owl holding the Templar’s sword inside a golden spiral, flowed in the wind. Connor stiffened and Cullen instinctively put his hand on the young man’s shoulder. The dark haired mage’s shoulders eased just slightly at the contact, but both men stood on edge. The Templars dismounted from their horses, and the Mages followed fearfully behind. Connor’s fist tightened on his staff, his fingers bruising against the coiled silverite serpents.

            “Connor, it’s going to be alright,” whispered Cullen, tightening his grip.

            Connor looked back to the commander, his eyes strong and full of fire. He spoke his voice full of confidence, “Cullen, I know. Just trust me to do what’s right, this is my fight.”

            Cullen gave him a wary glance to which Connor replied with a pleading one. Conceding Cullen nodded and gave Connor’s shoulder a light squeeze. The young Archon stepped forward to address the Ostewick Circle; he marched to face the Knight Commander of the Circle.

            “Ostewick Circle,” called Connor in the most authoritative voice he could muster, “I bid you welcome to Haven, home of the Inquisition. Mages will take the quart—”

            “Enough already,” snapped the imposing Knight Commander, “I didn’t take time to hear the ‘Herald’s’ toy messenger, fetch me the ‘Herald of Andraste’, I wish to speak to him about the Templar’s lodgings, we do require certain amenities.”

            An eerie silence fell over the procession, and Sera let out a light hiss of air. The Knight Commander bellowed again, demanding Connor bring him the ‘Herald’: his face filling with contempt for a Mage that would not answer to him. The Knight Commander turned and moved to cuff Connor across the face. A sharp ring echoed in the silence, Connor had moved his staff to block the metal gauntlet. The Templar’s face flushed and his men began to rile with anxiety and anger.

            “You bellow like a wounded boar you arrogant bastard,” snapped Connor, “maybe you should use the simple mind the Maker gave you Knight Commander Braxton. If you did, you would know that Firstly, I am ‘The Herald of Andraste’ Secondly, you would remember my face and name, and Lastly, you’d realize that you pissed off the wrong mage”

            Connor flicked his staff and small wave of energy separated the Knight Command and himself.

            “Well Andraste’s ass if it isn’t little Connor, boys, seems like he finally grew some balls. We were all convinced you had a cunt between your legs like some cheap whore.”

            Solas snapped, “Hold your tongue you fucking prick. I swear I—”

            “Solas, I can fight my own battles,” hissed Connor, “though I congratulate you on swearing there is a first time for everything. Now back to you Knight Commander, you and your Templars are not welcome here only the Mages may stay. You and your men will be taken to Val Royeaux for trial and execution for the mistreatment of Mages.”

            “Really now? You see, the circle has been terminated, and last I remember you were a rogue apostate that needed to be taken into custody,” snapped Braxton raising his blade against Connor’s throat, “I feel that you need to hold your tongue before I have to take you into custody; my men and I are know for dealing out fair punishment.”

            Leliana snapped, “No, you and your men are known for your cruelty and your avarice. Everyone in the Inquisition knows, our allies know, and the Chantry has been informed. We found the memory stones, and the secret atrocities are well known.”

            Knight Commander Braxton froze; his face became stone. His focus shifted to Connor and he gave him an icy glare. His face flushed with anger and he lunged forward with his sword. The edge barely caught the Connor’s collar, but enough to draw blood.  Connor swept to the side bringing his staff across the back of Braxton’s head knocking of his helm; revealing his block head, and cruel eyes. The Templar turned and called for his men to join him. Members of the Inquisition moved to Connor’s aid, but he raised a hand to stop them. Templars circled him each raising their blades; each of them taking aim at the young mage that stood before them.

            Braxton gave the command, “By order of the Chantry I hereby place the Apostate, Connor Trevelyan under arrest, and if he resists, execution. Apostate, drop the staff or forfeit your life.”

            Connor replied in a cool tone, his face calm and relaxed, “You can try to take me in which case all of you will die, or you can turn yourselves over to the Chantry for judgement in which case only _most_ of you will die.”

            The Ostewick mages stood shocked as they witness one of their own stand up to, and defy a Templar of the Circle. Some stood scared and others stood tall with a growing confidence. Braxton noticed the change in their demeanor and cracked his knuckles. That was the signal. The Templars charged and swarmed the young mage and chaos erupted. Lightning poured out of the sky disintegrating a few Templars in the swarm. Connor willed the fade to change around him. A young female Templar swung her sword and it stopped inches from Connor’s face. The air crackled and a large wave of telekinetic energy exploded around the young mage sending the Templars flying. Connor then moved to the offensive; he willed the top of his staff with fire and the bottom blade with ice. He parried blows and shattered shields, his blade caught the openings in the Templar’s plate; crippling those he cut, and his lithe frame slipped through and flipped over the Templars. Templars fell suffering from all manner of wounds; burns, lacerations, loss of limbs, and even being reduced to ash. The number of Templars standing quickly fell as Connor dispatched them; some were even killed by other Templars as they lashed out wildly at Connor.

            The young Archon unleashed a large volley of icy shards at Braxton and he bashed them away with his shield. Braxton raised his shield and charged causing Connor to leap backwards. mid leap, the enraged Knight Commander caught Connor’s feet, trying to tip him to the ground. Connor planted a hand and flipped backwards with one-handed back springs. Members of the crowd gasped and Cullen gave a light smile he knew what was coming.

            Connor as he threw his staff towards Braxton, the icy blade whistling as it cut through the air. He dodged it narrowly as it grazed his shoulder, moving to bash the charging mage. Connor broke into a full sprint and just before Braxton’s reach; he slipped to the ground and slid between his legs. Mid slide, Connor froze the Templar’s feet into place. Grabbing his staff still on the ground, he pushed up and flipped onto Braxton’s shoulders, his thighs around his neck. Pulling back with all his might, he flipped the Knight Commander and sent him head over heels into the snow. Braxton hit the ground hard with a sickening snap, and when his vision came back into focus, Connor had the blade of his staff under his chin.

            “Don’t even try it,” said Connor pressing the blade’s edge against Braxton’s thick neck. Blood trickled from his busted lip into his short sandy hair. His arm was bent at forced angle and crimson vines spilled through his steel plate gauntlet.

            “Do it, kill me and become the apostate we all know you are, or even now, do you not have the balls for it. You can’t strike me down.”

            Connor looked at the Knight Commander with a disgusted look, “For years I have dreamed of killing you, I wanted to make you suffer for what you did to me and the others, but now I realize, you’re not worth it.” Connor lifted his blade from his neck and walked to the Mages. “I give you all asylum here at Haven, march with me on ‘The Breach’, and as for the Templars any survivors, including Braxton will be sent to Val Royeaux for trial. Commander Cullen if you would take Braxton and his men into custody I want them locked in the cells.”

            Cullen nodded and moved to get Braxton to stand; he pulled his hands behind his back when the older Templar snapped his head back stunning him. Braxton then pulled a dagger from his belt and held it to Cullen’s throat; the blade made of shimmering red lyrium. Braxton smiled smugly at his hostage.

            “Now Connor, I demand you lay down your staff or he dies.”

            Cullen gasped, “Connor don’t he’s mad just charge him, I am not worth your arrest. You know what they’ll do to you.”

            Connor’s calm expression broke and fury raged in his eyes. The wind began to pick up and the sky darkened. “Now you’ve gone to far, unhand him now.”

            “Not a fucking chance, now drop the staff.”

            Connor gave Braxton and icy look and glanced at Cullen, “You see, I am the Grand Magus of Thedas, therefore I am a Sorcerer not a mage. I have trained in the fade and learned the old magic’s and you have made a grave error. Cullen, I must break our promise only this once.”

            Cullen’s eyes widened and he started to shout but it was too late. Around Connor, a red mist began to swirl and from the bodies the mist grew thicker. The crimson cloud began to for in rings around him. Slithering shapelessly, the blood spiraled around Connor. He brought his staff up and then shoved the blade through his chest. Gasps and screams echoed from the crowd, and Cullen felt the Knight Commander tense behind him. A warm trickle began to pour onto Cullen’s shoulder; turning his head, the young commander saw as blood spilled from Braxton’s mouth, his face in shock. Connor pulled the staff from his body and the wound disappeared.

            “You brought this on yourself Braxton, Cullen step away from him.” Cullen stepped away and moved to Connor’s side. “Knight Commander Braxton,” said Connor with the voice of legion, “for your crimes against Mages, Chantry, and the acts of inhumanity, I sentence you to death.”

            Connor snapped his fingers and Braxton’s eyes widened. At first, nothing happened then Braxton let out a small cry as he exploded. A red mist poured over the area; chunks of bloodied armour and cloth fell around them. The wind died down and a small bloody rain began to pour over Connor and Cullen. The young archon turned his face to Cullen’s and whispered, “I’m sorry, Maker I am so Sorry”, before Collapsing into his arms. Cullen held the young Mage, his heart heavy and full of sorrow. _He said he was sorry; he still cares. I promise never to let you down again._

…

            Connor awoke in his cabin, his mind racing. He shot up and found himself surrounded by all of his Companions, Cullen sitting on the foot of his bed.

            “Thank the Maker you’re awake, how are you feeling,” asked Cullen.

            “To be truthfully honest, I feel like I was trampled on by a heard of Druffalo.”

            Varric laughed, “Well Doey, that _is_ what happened when you single handedly take on a battalion of Templars.”

            Josephine rushed and hugged him, causing Connor to hiss in slight pain, “I am so glad you are alright you have had us all worried for two days.”

            “I am sorry Josie, trust me I would much rather have been conscious, the fade is riled up because of my blood magic…Oh Maker I am so sorry…I…I don’t know what else to say, I just had to defend Cullen.”

            “Oh fuck the blood magic,” yelled Josie, much to everyone’s surprise, “Andraste’s ass, I don’t give a damn if you used it a hundred times, and you saved not only Cullen, but you also saved the Ostewick mages and yourself from a life of living torture.”

            “Besides,” added Solas, “blood magic is feared because you must make a deal with a demon to learn it, but you received it via your own natural intuition. Therefore, you made no deal. In addition, blood mages crave to use the power for madness, whereas when you cast, anyone who can read magic sees the reluctance and regret in your spell. You are not drawn towards the madness.”

            Connor nodded and shrugged, “I still feel like I shouldn’t use it.”

            “Then don’t use it,” sighed Solas, “It is our job to help you learn to control your powers, but it is up to you how you use them. Vivienne, Dorian, and I are here to teach you, along with the other Mages, and Grand Enchanter Fiona. The Grand Enchanter has made a clear announcement about your status and your use of blood magic so there will be no threat of it.”

            Connor nodded his head and leaned back against the headboard. His friends brought up conversation that focused on how nothing has changed between them. Sera admitted Connor’s powers were, “Creepy as fuck” but she was fine as long as he kept them to a minimum around her. Dorian and Vivienne checked over Connor’s wounds and talked animatedly over the training regimens that they were devising; Vivienne had Connor learning other languages. Varric made light commentary of how he now has to use that flip move in one of his next books seeing how effective it was in actual combat. Bull talked about how “Badass” Connor was taking on the Templars. Even Blackwall spoke praise on the young Mage for his prowess. Eventually Cassandra called for everyone to head home and get some rest, as they would be charging on “The Breach” in the morning. Connor’s companions said their goodbyes and they all left until only Cullen remained. His face looked exhausted, and a worried smile played on his lips.

            “It is good to see you are okay Connor, I was worried. I can understand if you are—”

Connor leaned forward, wincing from the pain, and hugged the commander. His body seemed smaller because he was not wearing a shirt and Cullen was dressed in his full breastplate.

            “Connor”, whispered Cullen.

            “I am sorry, I…I never meant to hurt you, I just… I am so sorry,” said Connor as tears welled in his eyes.

            Cullen pulled the boy close and laid next to him, he ran his right hand through the boy’s hair, and his left rested on his waist. He looked down into the young Mage’s eyes, the vibrant, nebulous, amethyst shone back at him.

            “I deserved it…I did I wasn’t being mindful of your pain after the others found out.” Connor moved to argue but Cullen put his finger to his lips. “Don’t, Connor…I know what you are going to say. You had every right to be defensive, you still do. I just want you to know I won’t hurt you, and I do have feelings for you. I...I am just coming to understand them myself.”

            “Cullen,” whispered Connor, his eyes heavy, “Please stay, please, for me.”

            Cullen nodded and Connor closed his eyes and rested his head in the blond haired man’s lap. Cullen stroked his hair and let his eyes close. For the first time in a while, he had a pleasant sleep.

…

            Bitter cold air whipped frozen faces as the Inquisition’s army marched up the slopes of mountain. “The Breach” above the ruins of the Temple of Andraste was the goal. The army marched to close the massive rift swirling in the sky. At the head of the march was Connor, he wore a black leather coat that and crimson sash over his black cotton doublet and trousers. He wore metal plate boot covers and gloves, and a shimmering silver mages cowl. The heads of the inquisition followed him, each wore their full armour; Bull in dragonplate, Sera in a collection of leather and chainmail, Dorian in armored leather robes. Crashing in front of the march, demons poured from the sky. The forces marched and the vanguard moved to act as the first wall of defense, cutting down demons before they could get to Connor.

            After several hours of marching, the Inquisition had reached its goal. The foot soldiers and scouts set a perimeter around the rift and Connor took his place at the center of “The Breach.” The Mages acted as extra support and lent Connor more magic as he moved to seal the swirling rift. Shimmering blue clouds of energy encompassed the Mages and then thin streams of energy coalesced to Connor. The young Mage willed the mark on his hand to flare to life. With the addition of all of the extra energy from the Ostewick Circle, the mark exploded with energy as a large jet tied itself to “The Breach.” Connor could feel the threads of reality connect around the jet he was pouring into the fade. Focusing with all of his strength, he pulled the rift, and “The Breach” was sealed in a flash of green. Energy expelled from the tear and Connor lost his balance. Swiftly a pair of arms wrapped around him pulling him up. Turning Connor could see Cullen; smiling and looking at him with pride. They had done it they had finally sealed “The Breach.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay everyone, I am astounded by the calling and notes, It really makes my day. I love that you all appreciate my work and I am really glad that it has gotten this far. I hope you stick around until the end, and feel free to bring your friends. Also I love feedback and discussions so feel free to message me.  
> Love you all,  
> Connor Trevelyan, TheFallenStar.


	9. In Your Heart Shall Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Breach is closed and all is well, or is it. A new threat, the mastermind behind it all reveals itself. The Elder One comes face to face with Connor. Haven is swallowed in a storm and battle and the losses are great. But our heroes must look to the sky for one day soon the dawn will come, maybe in for of a place that hold the sky, or a leader for the Inquisition.

In Your Heart Shall Burn

            Song and praise echoed through the Valley of Sacred Ashes. The forces of the Inquisition cheered and celebrated their victory. Soldiers and servant alike, danced around campfires; eating choice meats, drinking fine wines, and pairs or groups sneaking off to _christen_ their victory. Connor walked to the Chantry from his Cabin, quickly hustling past the barracks where muffled cries of pleasure echoed. He smiled to himself thinking that the men really deserved the reward, and diversion, especially after all they had been through. As he walked through the throngs of celebrating people, Connor could make out some of his friends. Dorian was participating in a drinking contest with Iron Bull and Blackwall, Varric was telling stories of intrigue to soldiers and scouts with Solas, Vivienne and Josephine were walking through the crowds discussing Orlesian politic and fashion, and Connor caught a glimpse of Sera sneaking off into a cabin with Harding in tow.

            Arriving at the Chantry, he met with Cassandra on a small balcony. The pair leaned on the edge and watched the celebration unfold.

            “You know seeker,” said Connor, “this is because of you. If you hadn’t spared me and raised the Inquisition, none of this would be happening.”

            “Of that I am aware, but I also have to acknowledge that you lead it thus far, without you I fear we would be at a loss.”

            Connor blushed lightly and faced Cassandra, “You know I have been with the Inquisition for near nine months and still can’t believe all we have accomplished.”

            Cassandra smiled and ruffled the young Mage’s hair. The scene was perfect “The Breach” was closed, rifts were closed and jubilant parties were being held by campfires. The pair enjoyed the sight of a cloudless sky and a full moon; taking in the cool night air. Everything stood calm as the celebration went on around all of Haven.

            Suddenly there was a large crash and the Chantry bells were ringing in alarm. Cassandra and Connor immediately broke into a sprint. The lively scene now twisted into one of chaos and fear. Arriving quickly at the gate, the two of them managed to meet up with Cullen.

            “Forces approaching, to arms,” Cullen shouted to the men. Turning to Connor, “A large force moves in bulk over the mountain.”

            Josephine ran down from the Chantry followed by Vivienne, “Cullen, under what banner do they march?”

            Turning with a worried look Cullen deadpanned, “None.”

            A large explosion rang out over the gate; bright flashes of orange flame shown under the portcullis door shaking it on its hinges.

            “I can’t come in unless you open,” called a young voice.

            Connor rushed forward and pushed open the large oaken doors. A large Venatori soldier wielding an axe marched towards the gate. The soldier stopped suddenly with a stiff jerk before Connor could unsheathe his staff. The large man fell revealing a small scrawny boy dressed in patchwork rags and a large armored scarecrow hat, both splotched with blood. His features were shallow and his skin pale, he looked to be around the same age as Connor. Large purple bags were under his eyes. He wielded two kriss daggers, and several Venatori lay dead at his feet.

            “I’m Cole. I came to warn you. To help. People are coming to hurt you. You probably already know,” said the boy.

            “Wait what’s going on,” said Connor in a cold sweat.

            Cole’s face darkened, “The Templars have come to kill _you_.”

            All of the blood drained from Connor’s face. _Why are they still trying to hurt me? Why are they still after me, what have I done now._ Cullen ran up to the two boys, “Templars? Is this the order’s response to our talks with the Mages? Attacking Blindly?”

            Cole faced Connor, staring him down, “The red Templars went to the ‘Elder One.’ You know him? He knows you. You took his Mages. There” Cole pointed off to a ridge in the distance. Two figures stood tall on the ridge. One a man dressed in full Templar plate; the armor glowing red and vicious, his black hair slick and oily. He wielded a large broadsword that was crafted from red lyrium. The other figure was taller by another three heads. His body was a twisted amalgamation of skin being stretched, raw and bloody, over armor like bone and red lyrium. His face scarred and disfigured as shards burst through the ragged flesh. His figure was tall and imposing and his eyes burned with hatred. A swirling black cloud seemed to emanate from his body, wrapping around his legs as though he emerged from shadow.

            “I know that man,” called Cullen, “But this ‘Elder One’…”

            Drawing his daggers and crouching to strike Cole warned, “He’s very angry you took his Mages.”

            Connor looked to Cullen and asked for a plan. The commander began to give the order to control the battlefield. Haven was no fortress so; to succeed they must control the field of battle. Cullen ordered Connor to help launch and defend the trebuchets, as he would lead the command of the foot soldiers.

            “Mages,” yelled Cullen, “you—you have sanction to engage them! That is Samson. He will not make it easy! Inquisition with the ‘Herald!’ For your lives! For all of us!”

            The forces of the Inquisition charged and the ring of steel filled the air. Flaming debris was launched at the oncoming Templars. Connor charged alongside Solas, Cassandra, Cole, and Iron Bull. The war party moved to end the marching army. Cassandra and Bull charged as the vanguard, Bull’s axe biting into and rending the lyrium infused Templars to pieces. Cassandra followed in suit, her blade slicing extremity from body. Her shield caught a Templar in the head, and with a sickening crunch, bits of skull and bloody pulp flew through the air. Solas began to weave spells at an astounding rate; his fires burned blue and full of rage, the ice shards pierced through the thickest plate. His spells stained the battlefield deep rouge. Cole faded in and out of sight as if he were a mere flicker of life. His blades flashed and throats were wrenched open and eyes were gouged out with near supernatural speed. A large red Templar charge Connor and he froze only for a second. The Templars face was rent and peeling, his armour and sword bloodied. Then something in Connor snapped, he charged forward and pushed out with his hand. The Templar stood still until his chest plate imploded on itself and he flew into a line of other red Templars. Connor smirked as this newfound courage and he took aim with a trebuchet. Pulling back on the handle, the trebuchet fired a collection of flaming debris peppered with lyrium. The debris flew through the air and smashed into the peak of one of the surrounding mountains. Blue flashes occurred when the lyrium exploded and ruptured the peak. Snow and ice broke free and an avalanche began to descend on the enemy forces. Chaos. Ice became a hellish march down the mountainside. The rumble grew as more of the mountain gave way to the deluge, and trees and rocks joined in the descent.

            The waves of frozen mountain washed over the red Templar army, winning the Inquisition control of the field. The men cheered in this small victory but only for a moment, because all hopes were shattered when a loud roar resounded over the valley. In the sky a large winged shadow descended over Haven; the large shadow drew close and Connor saw its form. Large leathery wings buffeted the air, fangs glimmering like obsidian daggers, eyes deep crimson and full of destruction.

“Archdemon!” one soldier screamed.

Another cried out, “Maker help us, the rifts and now a blight!”

The Archdemon flew down towards the trebuchet and expelled a stream of volatile red flame. The wooden trebuchet smoldered and gave under its own weight. As it fell, the Archdemon swatted it with its tail seeding destruction amongst the outskirts of Have. Connor called the men to retreat and started to gather is forces. He willed the sky to storm and the wind howled wildly. Effortlessly, the Archdemon flew through the tempest and rained fire on another trebuchet. Connor gathered his companions as they ran; screams and cries were pounding in his ears. Dead and wounded soldiers lay strewn on the ground, limbs wrenched and twisted, sitting in pools of their own blood. Connor felt bile rise in this throat, and he pushed forward. Men cried for assistance as the struggled to open blocked doors. Connor nodded and Bull smashed them free.

“Everyone inside hurry,” screamed Cullen, “come on, to the Chantry.”

The group took off and pushed inside Haven’s walls with the last of the soldiers. The Archdemon flew overhead screeching loudly. Inside the wall, they were no safer, than outside; red Templars spilled over the walls, and building were burning with people inside them. Connor turned and cupped his mouth. Taking a deep breath, he blew air between his hands creating a deep plume of frozen air. The fires died and the few innocents trapped inside ran to the Chantry for safety. A scream echoed and Connor noticed that the tavern was ablaze and beginning to crumble. The young archon sprinted towards the door; he could see the Elven owner trapped under a smoldering beam. Suddenly Connor was on his back, his vision blurred, and the tang of iron flooded his throat. His vison focused and he watched as the tavern collapsed on the young elf, the debris from the roof falling, crushing, and scorching the life out of the girl. Her screams piercing and then cut short; as a large beam fell on her head, silencing her forever. Rage ripped through the young mage and he expelled as much energy as he could, sending the nearby Templars crashing into their surroundings. Connor clamored to his feet and felt his nose drip, blood. Red veins ran down his face and his head ached with every pulse from his heart. The Templars tried to rise, but Connor slammed his staff into the ground and large ice spike pierced the ground and Templars alike.

Solas caught up to Connor, shocked to see him so bloodied. Connor waved him off and the pair ran towards the Alchemist hut. Connor froze and then raced forward as the sight of Elara trapped under a fallen trellis with the Alchemist. She screamed for him to help as fire trailed towards large vats of lyrium and oil. Connor moved without thought and wrenched the Trellis apart. The splintery wood bit into his hands tearing his palms; Solas moved to help cutting away at the binding with his staff until the trellis lifted. Elara and the Alchemist ran from the hut just as the fire hit the oil. The flames grew and the lyrium burst in a large hellish cloud, the edges of which caught Connor’s cloak. The fire licked its way across the material burning the edges of his sleeve. Connor dove into the snow and extinguished the fire, but the damage was done; his skin was red and blistered and the rough icy snow ripped open small cuts in right arm.

Solas noticed the wound and as the pair ran to the Chantry, he tried to heal it the best he could. The lyrium had entered Connor’s body and wound making it harder to heal. Connor hissed as his skin stitched itself back together.

“Connor, are you alright,” gasped Cullen as he ran to his side, “What happened to you?”

“Lyrium, fire, and oil,” snapped Connor, wincing at the pain.

“Lyrium are you—”

“Cullen, I will be fine.”

“And your face?”

Solas spoke, “He was charging to save Yara, the barkeep, but a Templar caught him with the blunt end of his shield. His nose isn’t broken, just bleeding…Yara…she didn’t make it.”

The Commander looked at him with concern, “I hate to bring more bad news, but that dragon won back any time you gave us with the avalanche. We’re cornered.”

“I’ve seen an Archdemon,” murmured Cole, “I was in the Fade. It looked like that.”

“Isn’t their anything?”

“We can turn the trebuchets on the cliffs behind Haven, taking them out with us.”

Dorian stepped in, “Well I don’t feel like dying, so Commander, do think of a new plan and hurry.”

Cole broke the tension, and scrambled in carrying Grand Chancellor Roderick, who had a growing red stain on the front of his Chantry garb.

“He fought a Templar. He wanted to help. He’s going to die.”

The chancellor smiled slightly, “Charming boy isn’t he, but I may have a solution.”

“He does,” murmured Cole, “He wants to say it before he dies.”

“There is a path,” coughed Roderick, bloody spittle leaving his lips, “You wouldn’t know it unless you took the summer pilgrimage as I have”

“Chancellor what do you mean,” asked Cullen.

“You need to lead the people out of that path.”

Cole spoke again pointing to Connor, “The Elder One is only after you. He will not focus until you are dead. He wants to kill you personally. You made him very angry.”

Connor turned and faced his companions, “Cullen, can you take the men and lead everyone from Haven?”

“Connor what about—”

“Can you lead them from Haven,” snapped the young Mage.

Cullen composed himself, “Yes Connor, I can. Please just wait for us to be over the ridge before you fire.” Connor gave him a sad look. “Who knows, maybe you’ll beat the odds again?”

Connor hugged Cullen, and turned to the others ordering them to follow Chancellor Roderick to safety. Connor felt a fire burn within him as he burst through the chantry doors. Connor winced: his head still pounding from the impact of the shield, the taste of iron sitting heavily on his tongue, and his wounded staff hand now screaming with pain from the lyrium. Running to the last trebuchet Connor wove spell after spell sending Templars flying in every direction. Connor’s staff blade bit into tainted flesh; rending flesh from bone, killing anyone who got in his way. Focusing to the point where his head felt like it was going to burst; Connor willed two small cyclones to guard him as he turned the trebuchet into position. Tears poured down his face as he fought against the pain in his head; the twisters pulsing with each lapse in concentration. With one final pulse, he collapsed to the ground as the whirlwinds combined into one and shredded the red Templars. Standing shakily, Connor saw as the Archdemon descended upon him. Diving to the side he narrowly missed the dragon’s maw. From the surrounding fire, the figure of the Elder One emerged. The dragon roared and moved to charge Connor.

“Enough,” said the Elder One in a deep voice, raising his arms and commanding the Archdemon. “Pretender you toy with forces beyond your ken, no more.”

“What are you, why are you doing this,” screamed Connor over the roar of the flames.

“Mortals beg for truth they cannot have. It is beyond what you are, what I was. Know me, know what you have pretended to be, exalt the Elder One, the will that is Corypheus.” Corypheus raises a blackened clawed hand gesturing to Connor. “You will kneel.”

Connor burned with anger and rage, he would not be commanded anymore, “No I will not, you are forcing this fight for no reason.”

Pulling out a black coiled orb Corypheus spoke, “You resist, your kind always resists. It matters not; I am here for the Anchor.” The orb flared to life, emitting a glowing red aura. “The process of removing it begins now.”

Connor felt his hand ignite with pain, as the orb grew brighter. Corypheus outstretched his hand and the mark flared.

“It is your fault child, you interrupted a ritual years in planning, and instead of dying, you stole its purpose. I do not know how you survived, what marks you as touched, what you flail at rifts, I crafted to assault the very heavens.” Connor screamed as Corypheus pulsed the Anchor. “And you used the anchor to undo my work, the gall.”

Collapsing to his knees Connor yelled, “What is this thing meant to do?”

“It is meant to bring certainty where there is none. For you, the certainty that I would always come for it.” Corypheus charged Connor grasping him by the wrist and lifting him into the air. “I one breached the Fade in the name of another, served the old gods and empire in person. I found only chaos, corruption, and dead whispers. A thousand years I was confused, no more. I have gathered the will to return under no name but my own, to champion for Tevinter and correct this blighted world. Beg that I succeed, for I have seen the throne of the gods, and it was empty.”

Connors eyes widened as Corypheus threw him against the trebuchet, his vison blurring on impact, black spots forming from the pain.

“The Anchor is permanent you have spoiled it with your stumbling.” Connor, nearly spent scrambles for a dull iron shorts sword, as Corypheus and the dragon move in. “So be it, I will begin again, find another way to give this world the nation and God it requires.”

In the distance a small flaming arrow burning bright against the mountainside, the sign from Cullen.

“And you,” snapped Corypheus gaining Connors attention, “I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. You _must_ die.”

“Your arrogance blinds you,” snarked Connor with a small smile, “Good to know. If I am dying…it’s not today.”

Raising the short sword high, Connor brought the blade down on the trigger for the trebuchet. The coil snapped and trebuchet fired, flaming debris sailed and smashed into the peaks above Haven. The mountaintop crumbled and crashed, descending on Haven. The Archdemon wrapped its wings around Corypheus, and took flight. Connor losing consciousness took off and ran into the distance. The edge of the avalanche came closer and Connor stumbled into an abandoned quarry tunnel as the wave of snow washed over him.

…

Cullen’s heart sank as he saw the single shot from the trebuchet hit the peak and explode. Screams and cries for “The Herald”, for Connor echoed as the torrent of ice and snow raced down the mountainside towards Haven. The wave of snow swallowing the small village, swallowing Connor. Cullen turned and marched his men onwards, as silent bitter tears streamed down his face.

…

Connor awoke in the rubble, ice stinging his skin. His vision blurry, and when he touched his aching head, his hand came back damp with warm blood. Trying to stand, Connor finds that his ankle is twisted and very swollen. Looking for his staff, he finds that it has been crushed by falling debris, the metal rent and the crystals shattered. His hands burn: the one burned by lyrium healing slowly still under Solas’ charm, the other burned with a growing fire in the Anchor. Connor decides to try to escape the old tunnels, and limps through the winding corridors for the better half of an hour before he encounters a bright flash. A small rift opened and poured out three despair demons, before collapsing under its own lack of energy. Unarmed Connor closed his eyes readying himself for death, his anchor burning, searing with pain. Suddenly, Connor felt as if all that burning had been released, opening his eyes, he saw that the anchor and caused a small rift to form and it pulled all of the essence of the demons into it before collapsing. The young archon is relieved and makes his way from that chamber to the exit of the mine.

The bitter winds bite at his skin as he notices small fires in the distance. Gathering the last of his will, Connor limps and trudges through the knee-high snow. Minutes and hours seem to tick by as he walks towards the fire, his vision begins to become spotty and darken, he shivers restlessly in the cold, and his wounds scream with every step. Connor falls into the snow at the remains of a campfire, shadowy figures in the distance are the last thing he sees before sleep takes him.

Connor wakes in a cot, his body aching, head throbbing. Rising slowly, he can see that nearly his entire body is covered in bandages and wrappings. He felt stiff, but through the aching of his head, he could faintly hear his companion bickering over what to do next. Cullen called for new order, Cassandra trying to maintain the peace, Leliana and Josephine each calling for their own ideas. A gentle hand place on his shoulder calls Connor’s attention. It is Mother Gisselle.

“I should be there helping them plan,” groans Connor.

“Now hush child you need to rest.”

“They’ve been at it for hours.”

Sighing with a faint smile Mother Gisselle replies, “They have that luxury, thanks to you. The enemy could not follow, and with time to doubt, we turn to blame. Infighting may threaten as much as this Corypheus.”

“If they’re arguing about what to do next,” Sighed Connor, “I need to be there.”

“Another heated voice won’t help. Even yours. Perhaps especially yours. Our leaders struggle because of what we survivors witnessed. We saw our defender stand…and fall, and now we have seen him _return_. The more the enemy is beyond us the more miraculous your actions appear, and the more our trials seem ordained. That is hard to accept, no? What ‘we’ have been called to endure. What ‘we’ perhaps, must come to believe.”

“I know in my heart that I was meant for this, seeing all of the good we’ve brought, but that didn’t help at Haven.” Standing shakily Connor turned to leave his cot. “I want to believe Andraste is with me, but doubt is everywhere.”

Mother Gisselle watched with a heavy heart at the crestfallen boy; he hobbled against the post of a tent looking out over the remainder of the inquisition forces. The Inquisition, the chosen of Andraste, standing alone and weak against the forces of Corypheus in the frigid night. Mother Gisselle looked to the sky, her devotion came to a new resolution, she sang:

_Shadows fall and hope has fled, steel your heart the dawn will come._

_The night is long and the path is dark look to the sky for one day soon the dawn will come._

Leliana and Josephine looked up and raised their voice, followed by other members of the inner circle.

_The shepherd’s lost, and his home is far. Keep to the star, the dawn will come._

_The night is long and the path is dark, look to the sky for one day soon the dawn will come._

The forces of the Inquisition joined voices, scout and squire, soldier and smith, all of them gathered circling Connor. Elara in the front tears in her eyes, but face a solemn smile as she kneeled before Connor. The others followed in suit, their voices echoing over the snowy valley, in a resolute cry.

_Bare your blade, and raise it high. Stand your ground; the dawn will come._

_The night is long and the path is dark, look to the sky for one day soon the dawn will come._

Connor felt warm tears spill down his cheek, even after all this they still had faith in Andraste, they still had faith in him. A tender hand touched his shoulder, Mother Gisselle looked at him with a smile and teary eyes, and spoke, “Faith is made stronger by facing doubt. Untested, it is nothing.” She gave him a final glance before walking away.

“A word,” whispered Solas as he walked quietly past Connor. Connor followed him to the outskirts of the camp where Solas illuminated a single torch with blue fire. “A wise woman, worth heeding. Her kind understands the moments that can unify a cause, or fracture it. The orb Corypheus carried, the power he used against you. It is Elven. Corypheus used the orb to open the breach. Unlocking it must have caused the explosion that destroyed the Conclave. I do not yet know how Corypheus survived…Nor am I certain how people will react when they learn of the orb’s origin”

“This whole mess is confusing; I can see how Elves might be an easy target.”

“History would agree, but there are steps we can take to prevent such a distraction. By attacking the Inquisition, Corypheus changed it, changed you. Scout to the North, be their guide. There is a place that waits for a force to hold it, there is a place where the Inquisition can build…grow…Skyhold.”

…

The forces marched under Connor’s direction north through the slopes of the mountain. The trek was tiring, as the frigid winds were whipping, and whistling all around the survivors. After two day of continual marching, they saw it, a castle, no, a fortress in the horizon. Its large stone walls and spires resolute against the blizzard winds, the ancient banners flowing proudly, a symbol of hope for the Inquisition. The structure sat on a peak between two mountains, a large stone bridge the only entrance to the mountain top fortress.

…

Once inside the hold Cassandra summoned Connor to the walkway, leading him up the stone staircase.

“What is this about Cassandra,” asked Connor. A cold sweat formed when he saw Leliana hold a large broadsword in her hands. The blade imposing and commanding, forged from folded dragon bone, it glistened a glossy black in the sunlight. The handle, was a coil of silverite in the shape of a dragon’s maw.

“The Inquisition requires a leader: the one who has already been leading it.” Connor looked down over the balcony to see that denizen of the Inquisition had gathered. Cullen, Josephine, and other members of the inner circle all smiling with approval. “You.”

Connor stunned replied, “Perhaps I didn’t hear you correctly, a Mage at the head of the Inquisition, a young one at that.”

“Not a Mage,” smirked Cassandra, “You.”

“Uh Cassandra…I happen to be a Mage.”

“I will not pretend no one will object, but times are changing. Perhaps this is what the Maker intended. There would be no Inquisition without you. How it will serve, how you lead: that must be yours to decide.”

Connor stood silent for a moment and looked at the people, then at the blade of the Inquisition. Slowly he reached out his bandaged hand and took the blade from Leliana, holding it out in front of him. It was heavy, heavy dragon bone, and heavy with the responsibility that it represented.

“With fear running rampant,” said Connor, a newfound confidence growing, “they need to see a Mage standing for what is right. I’ll defeat Corypheus standing with them, not over them.”

Stepping to his side Cassandra spoke, “Wherever you lead us.” She rested her hand on his shoulder and then turned to the crowd. “Have our people been told?”

Josephine stepped forward, shooting Connor a proud smile, “They have and soon the world.”

Cassandra then called to Cullen, “Commander, will they follow?”

Cullen smiled at Connor and turned to his men, “Inquisition! Will you follow? Will you fight? Will we triumph?” The crowd roared and cheered. Man, women, Mage, and soldier alike all joined in a grand applause for Connor. Cullen drew his blade and raised it toward Connor, “Your leader! Your Herald! Your _Inquisitor_!”

Connor raised the blade high, focusing his will. Arcs of lightning raced from his blade and into the sky. The crowd extolled and screamed, their hopes bolstered under the banner of a single Mage. Josephine broke composure and hollered in Connor’s favor, earning a slight state of shock from Cullen. Connor stepped forward and lowered the blade, the reality hit him, he was their leader now, and he was the Inquisitor, _Inquisitor Trevelyan._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay everyone, this one is my longest chapter yet, and well you all know how crazy life can be. Anyways I hope you all love this chapter and feel free to share my story along with your friends. In the next chapter I think we can finally start really solidifying the Connor and Cullen Relationship. I am trying to keep a good balance between action and romance. Hope you all loved this, and I hope you continue to love this story.  
> TheFallenStar,  
> Connor Trevelyan.


	10. A Time of Reparation, Recovery, and Romance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the tragedy that was Haven and the crowning of Connor as Inquisitor, the Inquisition begins anew in Skyhold. The repair of the hold is underway and time moves forward, blossoming romance and recovery, and building bonds of friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this chapter these are a more of a collection of scenes rather than multiple lasting chapters. Here you get to see as the Inquisition takes root and bonds begin to grow and change over time.

A Time of Reparation, Recovery, and Romance

Several weeks had passed since Connor had become Inquisitor, and the trials of leadership were growing. Skyhold had requisitions for repairs; patching holes in the ceilings and walls, establishing new masonry, and removing rubble and debris from the century of abandonment. Josephine had his quarters refurbished first: his room was in the tallest tower in the inner courtyard. She had the room affixed with a large library, stained-glass windows on the three balconies, a fireplace, and other amenities. In addition, more for her own benefit, she sweet-talked Connor into a huge oak desk that could hold countless stacks of papers. Connor could do nothing but smile as his ambassador also took over as his decorator, implying ‘That one’s private quarters should reflect their position’, as it was Orlesian custom.

Connor would leave with scouts on insurgency missions, recruitment tours, and relief efforts for a week at a time. Upon his return, his once clear desk would be swimming in parchments. Orders from Cullen on scouting movements, liaison appointments from Josephine, and spy secrets from Leliana made up the majority of the clutter on his desk. Connor would sigh and set to work on the papers. From the grounds below members of the Inquisition could see the light of candles burning late into the evening, and occasionally a shout of profanity echoed down from Connor’s exhausted frustration.

…

            The Inquisition has reached the first year of life, and Connor felt like he had reached the last of his own. Josephine, Leliana, Varric, and Sera crept up the stairs to Connor’s quarters, all of them smiling and fighting back laughter. The dwarf pushed open the door and Leliana and Sera moved up the stairs peering between the railings. They notice he is leaning hunched over his desk. Leliana gives the signal and they all move. The group swarms Connor shouting and setting off small Orlesian confetti pops. Connor shot up off his desk in a daze, and fell backwards, sending papers all over the room.

            “For the love of—”

            “Hey inquizzybits,” laughed Sera, “happy friggin’ birthday.”

            Connor looked stunned as he saw his friends holding the poppers and smiling.

            “What…Oh maker,” sighed Connor with a smile, “I completely forgot that that was today? Wait, how do you know?”

            Josephine smiled, and leaned forward, “That would be my doing Inquisitor, I may or may not have accessed your family records and found it out. I thought you would want to celebrate.”

            Connor smiled sadly and looked at his friends, “I…I just don’t know what to say…guys. The last time I celebrated my birthday was before I was in the Ostewick Circle. I was five.”

            The party stood stunned and looked at him. Sera broke the silence, “Well then big shot, and all the more reason for you to get off your ass and have some fun.” She grabbed his hands and dragged him forward. She nodded to Leliana who wrapped a blindfold around his eyes.

            “Whoa okay,” asked Connor with growing panic, “why the blindfold?”

            “Well Doey,” said Varric pushing him along, “We can’t have you seeing the surprise, now can we? It is to keep the mystery of it. Just trust us.”

            Connor begrudgingly conceded, and accepted his fate as he was marched down the stairs from his tower. He could hear the giggling of servant girls as he walked past, and realized that he was still dressed in his wrinkled garb from the night before. His hair unkempt and sticking out on odd end and not wearing shoes, he must have made a humorous sight. Finally, he was sat down on what felt like a barstool and the blindfold removed.

            “Surprise,” shouted a group of voices, who turned out to be his inner circle. Connor’s eyes focused and he saw that everyone was gathered in the pub, smiling.

            “Guys, honestly you didn’t have to do this, we have work to—”

            “Yes, but we wanted to celebrate, besides one must make time for a party now and again,” said Josephine with a large grin.

            Leliana came up and put her hand on Connor’s shoulder, “So now you have to celebrate I mean even Josie is telling you to take a break.”

            “Alright,” shouted Bull, “enough with the chit chat let’s get this started.”

            Connor smiled and hugged Josie, and turned to his friends, “Alright, so what do we do first? It has been a while and I am sure you don’t want I five-year old’s interpretation of a birthday.”

            Bull smirked, “First we drink.”

…

            Connor thoroughly enjoyed the celebration, Bull opened up a cask of fine wine that the Chargers had gotten Connor as a gift. Blackwall had gotten him a small Grey Warden dagger with a handle shaped like a griffon. Varric pulled him aside and gave him the first copy of his next book, _Hard in Hightown: A Shadow’s Edge_ , which Connor finished the following day. Sera gave him a set of small smoke bombs that, when lit, would explode in a colorful smoke that would turn the opponent a bright shade of pink. Cole’s gift was his shoes from his room; Connor smiled and took them and Cole smiled that he could help. Dorian, Solas, and Vivienne all worked together to give Connor a new permanent staff, to replace the shoddy branch he had been using. The staff was carved from glossy black dragon bone, the top was shaped into three spiraled dragonheads, and the entire staff was riddled with thick veins of lyrium. Dorian and Vivienne also bought Connor a new black velvet cloak to replace his old burnt one. Connor wanted them to return it saying it was too fine, but Vivienne insisted saying one must look the part of a leader as well as act it. Cassandra, under Leliana and Josephine’s insistence gave Connor a new pair of Gurgurt leather boots to replace his old pair. Cassandra said she was going to get him a poetry book, but Leliana insisted this is what she should buy.

…

            The night progressed and the wine started to go to Connor’s head. Bull, Dorian, and Varric challenged him to a drinking game, where the purpose was to tell two truths and a lie and if the others called you on the lie, you drank. Needless to say, Connor was now thoroughly buzzed. Connor stumbled up the stair of the pub, and stepped out the attic door on to the battlements. The cool night air immediately began to clear his head; he pulled in the clarity of the night refreshing his mind. A few scouts passed and wished him well before he spotted Cullen resting against the stone.

            “You getting some air too,” asked Connor with a slight smirk.

            “Yes,” sassed Cullen, “But I know I didn’t drink as much as you.”

            The pair laughed and Connor walked up to Cullen, stumbling a little, maybe his head wasn’t as clear as he thought. Cullen steadied him and both of them rested against the cool stone, the chilled air blowing over them. The pair stood quietly as the guards and scouts walked the battlements on their evening rounds.

            “Cullen,” whispered Connor, “could I have a moment to speak to you alone?”

            “Alone?” Cullen turned and notice that some of the scouts were looking at them, “I mean, of course. Here follow me.”

            Cullen led Connor through an empty barrack and towards an abandoned battlement. Leading the way Cullen walked them up a flight of stairs until they stood alone on a roof. Connor stood quietly staring off into the distance his new cloak like a flowing shadow wrapped around him. The silver dragon fasteners glimmered like his amethyst eyes in the light of the moon. Cullen’s breath caught in his throat.

            “This is better, less noise and commotion,” said Cullen staring off distractedly, “what do you think Con—”

            The young Mage leaned forward and locked lips with Cullen. First Cullen was completely still; his mind blank, but then he returned the kiss wholeheartedly. Their teeth clicked as Cullen rolled his tongue against Connor’s. There it was Connor’s first real kiss. Cullen easily wrapped his arms around Connor’s waist pulling him deeper in the kiss. Connors hands cupped the sides of Cullen’s cheeks, the tips of his bandaged hand grazing the light stubble. The pair stood together under the moonlight, passions blooming. After what seemed like an eternity, the pair broke apart, resting their foreheads together, lips brushing. Both of them smiling and chuckling a little.

            “You have no idea how long I have wanted to do that,” whispered Cullen, his arms still wrapped around Connor.

            “I think I have some idea, I have wanted to do that since you helped me in the spring in Haven. No one had ever shone me that kindness before.”

            “Well Connor, I promise you that all I will ever show you is kindness.”

            The pair locked lips again and Connor sighed into the kiss, he was truly happy, for the first time in his life he felt safe and protected. This was the best birthday of his life. Breaking apart again, Cullen looked down at the Connor who was pouting slightly.

            “We can’t kiss forever; besides, I never gave you my gift.”

            “Oh there’s more,” said Connor playfully, “and here I thought that you kissing me was my present.”

            “As much as you would think that, no, I wanted to give you this.” Cullen reached inside his pocket and pulled out a small pendant. It was silver and shaped like three coiled dragons, their eyes made of glowing shards of lyrium. “This is the ‘heart of fire’, it belonged to the last Grand Magus, I sent a raven to the Fereldan circle, and they delivered it here.”

            “Cullen…I…I don’t know what to say,” stuttered Connor shocked.

            “Don’t say anything,” said Cullen, raising a finger to Connor’s lips. He undid the clasp and fastened the pendant around Connor’s neck. It rested against his heart and the metal was cool even through the doublet he was wearing. Connor leaned in and lightly kissed Cullen’s lips. Breaking apart Connor leaned against Cullen’s chest and the two sat and watched the stars.

…

            A few weeks had passed since Connor’s birthday, and Connor and Cullen were swept apart by their work again. Connor was pulled away on a recovery expedition to expel Dwarven Carta, and recover a lyrium trade rout. Cullen busied himself while Connor was away, preparing forces, running drills, and trying to Control his men, who were gossiping about how Dorian and Bull left the Tavern together. The men talked about how their romp could be heard from the barracks. Cullen sighed with exasperation when, much to his dismay and slightly to Dorian’s annoyance, Bull confirmed what had happened by stating, “Well, the bed gave out so we were at it up against the wall and the window was open apparently…oops.”

            Connor arrived back at Skyhold looking ragged, his hair matted, his clothes smudged and covered in dirt. His hand was in a sling and he had dark rings under his eyes. Dismounting from Frozen Wind, Connor made his way over to Cullen who was hunched over a planning table giving commands to the scouts and the soldiers.

            “Send men to scout the area, we need to know what’s out there,” droned Cullen not looking up from the map.

            “Yes ser,” saluted two recruits.

            Another scout came up wide-eyed and nervous, “Commander, soldiers have been assigned temporary quarters.”

            “Very good, I’ll need an update on the armory as well.” The scout nodded and froze awaiting order. “Ahem, that means now, recruit.” The young scout turned quickly and ran towards the armory. Connor walked to Cullen’s side and met his eyes. “Connor, we set up as best we could at Haven, but could never prepare for an Archdemon—or whatever it was. With some warning we might have…”

            Connor gave him a small smile, “Cullen, you look as ragged as I do. Do you ever sleep?”

            “If Corypheus strikes again, we may not be able to withdraw…and I wouldn’t want to. We must be ready. Work on Skyhold is underway, guard rotations established. We should have everything on course within the week. We will not run from here Inquisitor”

            “Everyone has so much faith in my leadership,” muttered Connor, “I hope I am ready.”

            Resting his hand on Connor’s shoulder Cullen spoke, “You won’t have to carry the inquisition alone, although it must feel like it. _We_ needed a leader. You have proven yourself.”

            “Cullen,” said Connor with a light smile, “I will always trust your judgement.” Connor reached his hand up and gave Cullen’s a light squeeze. “Now I best be off, Solas is helping heal my wounds and I have to start my training with Dorian and Vivienne.”

…

            Connor collapsed into his bed, the past month had been exhausting, he had specialized as a knight-enchanter for Vivienne, and had been pushing himself even more as a Mortalitasi for Dorian. Solas had healed his wounds and kept healing on his lyrium-scorched hand. The skin had scarred slightly, the lyrium and shone as silver veins scarred upon his skin. They wove their way across his hand and up his arm to his elbow. They were as beautiful as the Elven inkings of the Dalish, and the pain had subsided. Connor had been working on exploring the surrounding areas, expanding the reach of the Inquisition. He had won over a fort in Emprise du Lion, tamed some Avaar in the southern marshes, and he had also slayed a few high dragons, much to Bull’s approval. Connor groaned and tossed off his armor and boots, his body ached, his head pulsed with pain, and he felt exhausted. He donned a simple daywear and looked towards his desk; papers were in stacks. Connor sighed and he flicked his wrist; the papers shuttered and then his quill and seal floated to life signing the paperwork.

            “Maker, if it is not work from the Inquisition it is work from my teachers. Vivienne is going to be the death of me with her having me learn about Orlesian culture, and Dorian is hounding me down on learning Fereldan and Tevinter culture,” huffed Connor as he headed towards the gardens.

            On his way down, Connor took a moment to admire Skyhold. There were wooden constructs for repairs, but the debris was cleared, and the holes patched. Josephine had taken the liberty of ordering the heraldry for the hold. It was the Inquisition sunburst inside the ring of the Circle of mages. A few masons passed Connor carrying stained glass windows depicting Andraste and the golden flames.  Connor noticed that Vivienne had gotten what she desired, Vivienne wanted a throne that showed Connor’s power, and the power of the mages when he held court.  The throne was a construct of gold and silver rings similar to the symbol of the Circles, and the edges were adorned with several dragon heads that entwined to form the arms and back of the chair. Strolling through the hall Connor turned and headed out to the garden. Fresh crisp air met his lungs; the maples were assorted collages of red, orange, and gold. The firs and evergreens filled the air with the scent of winter and green. The garden’s had been under repair and landscaping, turning it from a simple clot of land into a Chantry prayer field. Nature and religion as one; simple stone carvings of Andraste, blooming flowers and colorful trees, and the light hum of the chat of light made the environment serene. Connor visited the garden when he was overwhelmed, the area was calm and resonated with life from the Fade.

            Dorian’s voice pierced the calm, “Alright Commander, it will be less painful if you just accept my inevitable victory.”

            “Oh really now Dorian, well—Oh Connor…um.”

            Connor had walked up to the pair and had stared watching them play chess. “Cullen, please continue I am just watching. I want to see who wins.”

            Cullen sat back down and turned towards the board, “Well Dorian I have to say I like your confidence, but as you can see I just won.” Cullen moved his tower, and smirked smugly at the Tevinter.

            Dorian sat stunned and scowled playfully at Cullen, “Are you sassing me commander, because there will be no living with you if you are.” Dorian stood and gave a large bow, leaving Connor and Cullen alone in the garden when he left.

            “Well I should get back to work…Unless you would like to play a game Inquisitor?”

            Connor smiled, “Ready the board Commander.”

…

            Dorian left the garden and met bull in a corridor leading to one of the balconies. He quickly grabbed his wrist and dragged him out onto the ledge.  
            “Well Dorian, if you want it that bad I mean—”

            “Oh hush, that’s later, and preferably with the window closed this time,” scolded Dorian with a mild blush, “Just stay quiet and follow me, also, try to keep your horns down.”

            The duo moved across the balcony and spotted Connor and Cullen playing chess. Dorian watched them intently and Bull started lazily toying with the snaps on his robe.

            “Will you quit it Bull,” Dorian huffed, “Fine just head back to your room I will be in shortly.”

            Bull leaned over Dorian’s shoulder, biting his ear and rasped, “Don’t take too long or I am going to have to punish you.” Bull then quickly turned on his heels and sauntered back towards his room.

            “Fasta Vas,” Cursed Dorian in a breathy whimper, “I am in for it tonight.” The Tevinter Magister watched as the Commander and Inquisitor played their game of chess. He was about to leave, when he saw what he had been waiting for; Cullen reached out and grasped Connor’s hand. Both of them blushed and Connor leaned forward and pressed his lips lightly against Cullen’s.

            “Knew it,” Dorian smirked, “Leliana owes me a silver.”

…

            Another month had gone by and Connor had grown, his lithe frame becoming stronger, his jaw becoming sharper, Cullen even teased him saying that he was going to have to shave or he would start growing a beard. Cullen had aged as well; he celebrated his twenty-ninth birthday much to his own protest. Bull had dragged him from his office and managed to get a few drinks in him to loosen him up. Dorian had proceeded to arrange for his shift to be covered by some of his men to truly get him to lighten up. The inner circle cheered as Cullen proceeded to beat Bull in a drinking contest.

            After a few hours, Bull had drank himself under the table, Dorian was trying, and failing to rouse Bull, Sera and Blackwall were sharing vulgar jokes and stories, and the others were either milling around or had gone home. Cullen was now beyond drunk, he could stand, but walking proved a challenge. Connor was at his side in a flash.

            “Now it’s my turn to lecture you about your drinking,” scolded Connor playfully.

            “No need,” Cullen slurred, “The hangover I am going to have tomorrow will be punishment enough.”

            The young mage smiled and the pair left the tavern. Cullen stumbling and teetering all the way to his quarters. Connor closed the door and turned, immediately he was pulled into a deep kiss. Cullen pressed their lips together desperately and Connor sank into his arms. The pair fell against Cullen’s desk; Connor straddling him on the floor. The kiss was sloppy and lacked finesse; it was all desire and lust. Connor gasped and pulled away shocking Cullen; his eyes wide and he was shaking. It took a moment and Cullen became painfully aware what had happened. Cullen reached out tentatively; pulling Connor close in his arms.

            “I am sorry I…I didn’t mean…I should have been in more…Connor, you know I do not want to pres—”

            Connor sighed and rested in Cullen’s arms, “I am just not ready… I am sorry. It is not your fault it is…it’s a normal reaction. I just need some time after Ostewick.”

            “Then take as much as you need,” whispered Cullen his breath heavy, “I promised you that I will never hurt you and I mean it.” Cullen pulled Connor close as the effect of Connor straddling him faded. He kissed the young Mage and they both drifted off into sleep.


	11. A Flood of the Dead and the Flight of a Hawke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor meets a familiar face from the past, and takes a trip. Cullen exchanges letters with people from his past and present. The pair end up in a Village that is plagued by floods of natural and supernatural means. Stress climaxes and Corypheus' plan is exposed.

A Flood of the Dead and the Flight of a Hawke

            Connor had been mulling around Skyhold looking for Varric, he wanted to thank him again for his book and the rest of the series. Connor really liked the crime serialization. The young mage check all of the usual places, the tavern, Varric’s room, the table by the fire where he normally writes, and even went so far as to ask Cassandra. Unfortunately, she didn’t know where he was either. Connor was on the verge of sending out a search party when he heard Varric’s raspy laugh echo down from the western battlements.

            Connor quickly ascended the stairs and rounded the tower to find the Dwarf conversing amicably with another man. The other man had dark black hair that was tousled and wild, his eyes a deep brown. A red streak of paint ran across the bridge of his nose. He looked to be in his early thirties, and he dressed in plate armour that left his left arm bare. The arm held a crimson tattoo in the crook, and he held a bladed staff. He was a mage.

            The pair of them took notice of Connor and Varric smiled slightly, “Connor I would like you to meet Hawke, the champion of Kirkwall. Hawke, this is Connor Trevelyan, the Inquisitor and Herald of Andraste.”

            “A pleasure to meet you Inquisitor, Varric has told me a lot about you.”

            Connor shot Varric a worried look, and Varric raised his hands in defense, “Don’t worry Doey, all good things I swear.”

            Connor was going to speak but the doors to the battlement tower slammed open. A lithe framed elf with snow-white hair and fierce expression rushed out. His skin was a deep caramel color and he had a similar vine patter across his open skin as Connor’s hand.

            “Hawke, Hawke, where they Maker are—Damn you Varric. Every time, every—fucking— time. I would like to have one peaceful meal with my husband,” shouted the elf as he locked eyes with Connor, “Who the hell are you?”

            “I am Connor, and from your attitude, and your broody nature and expression, you must be Fenris. Varric has written a lot about the both of you.”

            “I am not broody,” snipped Fenris and he moved to brood beside his husband.

            Hawke leaned in and kiss the elf lightly on the cheek, “Dear you do brood, but I find it endearing, but back to the matter at hand. Connor Varric tells me that you are having troubles over the disappearance of the Grey Wardens. I have a contact in Crestwood that may be able to shed some light on this situation.”

            “Hawke that would be fantastic I really appreciate your help—why is your husband looking at me like he is going to punch my face in.”

            Hawke turned to Fenris and gave him a scowl, “Dear enough. Sorry Connor he is just not a huge fan of Mages.”

            “Well it’s not my fault that you are associated with things exploding,” Fenris said with a cynical look, “I mean there was the explosion when the Archdemon was slayed, when Anders blew up the Chantry in Kirkwall, and now with the Temple of Sacred Ashes reduced to…well ashes. Mages and explosion tend to put me on edge.”

            Hawke groaned and rested his hand on Connor’s shoulder, “I promise he grows on you.”

            Connor nodded and then looked at them, “Alright I will see you at Crestwood then, Please enjoy the rest of your dinner, and I am sorry if I put you at unease, _Ma falon_.” Connor turned quickly and left the battlements. Leaving the three men remaining with stunned expressions on their faces, the young mage knew Elvhen.

…

            “Inquisitor watch, your step,” said Harding, “The ground here is slick and the last thing we need is you sliding down into the lake.”

            Connor balanced himself out and blanched at the sight. In the middle of the lake was a gigantic rift that seemed to pull in the water and boil it. The sight was a hellish green maelstrom, and if that was not enough, corpses were walking out from the lake. The rift was spawning a flood of the undead.

            “Why the undead, just why,” groaned Connor, “it couldn’t release something like birds or nugs.”

            “Not a fan of the undead,” snarked Dorian with a smile.

            Connor glared at him, “No…they are not preferred creature to encounter.”

            “Don’t worry boss,” called Bull, “He is only giving you shit because he his afraid of—”

            “Shut up,” hissed the Tevinter, “You will not speak of it.”

            Connor was left staring at the two when Varric grabbed his arm and lead them ahead. Crestwood was under a constant warm downpour because of the rift expelling water in the air. Storm clouds rolled over the area and lighting ripped through the sky. The party found that travel was difficult not only because of the rain, but that the undead were drawing creatures down from the surrounding mountains and caves.

Wyverns and Gurgurts roamed the hills lashing out at Connor and his company. Connor quickly dispatched them by using fade cloak. He rematerialized in them, wrenching them apart with the Fade, and he conjured his spirit blade. The blade glimmering a shimmering gold and it cut effortlessly through the creatures’ tough scales. Bull patted the young mage on the back, complimenting him on his work when they came across the village of Crestwood.

Connor nocked on the door to the Mayors’ house and proceeded to discuss their plans to reach the rift.

“I would suggest you drain the lake, but the bandits of the area have taken over the hold that has access to the dam controls. I mean if you found a way to access it, the controls probably wouldn’t even work. The darkspawn destroyed them during the last Blight,” said the mayor with and exhausted expression.

Connor nodded and moved to leave, “Mayor…I promise I will do right by you, and I will help Crestwood.” Connor threw up his hood and left the small cabin.

…

Cullen had finished with the orders at hand and groaned with exhaustion when a courier came in with another satchel of letters. Cullen took them without a word and moved to answer them now.

“If I suffer now, maybe I can get some rest later,” the blond haired man grumbled to himself. He opened the satchel and poured the contents in the available space of his desk. He smiled when he saw the familiar purple wax and imprint of a steed, _Connor_. Cullen hurriedly opened the letter hoping for good news and comforting words.

Dear Cullen,

          I hope you are doing okay; I miss you while I am here. The nights have been cold and well…to be frank shit. Undead continue to clamor out of the lake, but we have helped the citizens of Crestwood. I managed to slay a wyvern for a woman, and I, thanks to Bull’s ferocity have taken over the hold here. I hope that we can start bringing in soldiers within the week. Maybe even the ‘Commander’ could come and inspect the grounds. I also got your letter, and what you suggested sounds nice. I miss you and hope to see or hear from you soon. We will be emptying the Lake on the morrow; strange though. The Mayor said that the darkspawn destroyed the controls to the dam, but they are in perfect working order. Anyways, I love you and miss you, Cullen, you are my Lion.

Love Always,

Connor Trevelyan.

          Cullen smiled warmly and made a note that he was going to inspect the grounds. He actually would, seeing that this was their second fortress under their control, but mostly for Connor.

            Sifting through the orders and reports, Cullen froze. _Oh no, Oh Maker no. This cannot be._ He lifted the letter and moved to break the red wax seal in the shape of a Mabari paw.

            Cullen Stanton Rutherford,

                 How Dare YOU! Really, “I am fine, not at Haven, Things are strange.” Are you trying to give me a heart attack? Rosalie was sick with grief, Branson, well, let’s just say we no longer have a fox problem, and I am going to punch you in the face when I see you. I have gotten word that the Inquisition is in a fort called Sky-something. Anyways, you can either tell us where it is or I will find out on my own. I love you and miss you okay, please write us back, if only just to say that you are okay.

         Love Mia, Rosalie, and Branson.

          P.S. Cullen I am going to kick your ass, love your younger brother.

          “What the hell is wrong with my family,” Cullen cussed to himself and he quickly pulled out ink to reply.

            Dear Mia, Rosalie, and Branson,

                        I apologize that I didn’t write sooner, It has been very busy here. I am doing just fine and you have nothing to worry about. Actually to be frank I am doing better than fine, I haven’t felt this good in ages. Also, if you are set on coming to Skyhold, which knowing Mia’s hard head you are, enclosed are the directions to the hold. I would prefer if you took transport from Val Royeaux. I do hope you are all well and I send you my love,

            Your brother,

            Cullen.

            P.S. Branson I would like to see you try, you couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn as a child, and I know that I have more to worry about from Mia.

            Cullen smiled to himself, he knew that Mia was going to be peeved, but she also would be happy to have the family back together again. Cullen took the letter and sealed it with red wax and the Mabari print seal. Then he gave it to one of Leliana’s ravens. Smirking down at his desk he began his second letter.

            Dear Connor,

                        I miss you a great deal, you have been gone for so long, well it seems long to me. I am glad you liked the idea of us spending some time together, just you and me. I promise you, you will love the evening I have planned. The hold will need to be inspected, so I am going to make an appearance, but mostly it is for you my love. I hope Dorian and Bull are not too much, and please stay safe. I want to see you when you are through with this mess. Furthermore, I am your lion…now you flatter me, thank you Connor. I love you and miss you, see you soon my Dragon.

            Love your Lion,

            Cullen.

            Cullen sealed the letter and tied it gently to the foot of Connor’s personal raven. The bird cawed gently, its feathers a pure white, its eyes glistening a deep red. Cullen took the bird and released it through his window with a gentle flourish. He turned back to his desk with a new task. He needed to finish the paperwork, sleep, and then begin his journey to Crestwood. _Damn, no rest for the weary._

…

            Blood and ichor flew through the air. Connor rushed a group of shambling corpses as they closed in on Bull. Using his frost step, he spirited his way into the center of the crowd freezing them. Then using his momentum, from the spirited dash, he willed his spirit blade from the golden hilt and sliced through the corpses.

            There was a small moment of silence then the tops of the undead slid from their torsos and shattered on the muddy ground. Dorian had called upon the water from the inside of the cavern to create spikes of ice to slow the undead. Varric assisted with volley after volley of bolts.

            Connor leaned on his staff heavily and Bull grabbed his shoulder to help support his weight.

            “You okay boss, I think you need to take it easy,” said Bull with a worried expression.

            “No we keep moving, I am fine Bull,” Connor grunted, “we need to close the rift that formed here. If we don’t the people of Crestwood will be overrun with vile corpses.”

            “Well Doey,” said Varric as he launched a bolt into a corpse’s head, “as much as I admire your heart of gold, we are currently being overrun, ourselves, by the army of corpses. And, we would do no good to the village if we became more bodies in the army against them.”

            “I agree with the dwarf,” sassed Dorian as he lazily flicked his wrist and watched as several corpses were incinerated by a fire glyph.

            “Just a little farther,” pleaded Connor, “my mark is glowing brighter we are getting close.” The young archon rushed forward moving through the caves until the brittle calcified stone gave way and there were skeletons strewn across the stone. “Guys, there were people down here. Why were there people down here, what were they—Oh Maker no…no.”

            The skeletons were adults and children perfectly healthy and unmarred. In the stone walls, there were deep claw marks, and the fingertips of the skeletons were worn down. These people had been clawing against the stone for their lives. Connor noticed a small brown journal and picked it up. His face fell when he read the last entry.

_Momma, dada, and Joseph have talked with the others; they don’t like the Mayor. They think that he is mean. He is making all of us refugees sleep down here in the low village. He thinks we all have the blight. The family next to us says only a few people do and the rest just are sick from travel. I hope tomorrow is going to be a better day, momma and dada are fighting again; they do not like it here in the cave. I like it, it always sounds like rushing water._

Connor clutched the diary and then swiftly punched a stalagmite. His face contorted in anger and sadness.

“He did this to them,” Connor sobbed, “the mayor. He herded all of the refugees from the blight and because he feared infection he drown them all. He didn’t care…there were children…they weren’t…s-sick. W-why?”

“Doey,” murmured Varric as he rested his hand on Connor’s back, “let’s close this rift then we can take the Mayor into custody and try him in court. Come on kid, let’s let them get the rest they deserve rather than having their bodies controlled by demons.”

Connor flinched and stormed through the passages until the calcified cavern gave way to ancient Dwarven ruins. Connor slashed out angrily and fiercely at any corpse or demon that crossed his path. His spirit blade turned a venomous purple as it cut through every creature that came between him and the rift.

“Psst, hey Tiny, Sparkles,” whispered Varric as he walked anxiously behind the furious Inquisitor.

“What,” hissed Dorian, “and tiny and sparkles what now.”

“Well, _Sparkles,_ I am worried about Doey. He’s really been going through a lot recently, Chuckles—Solas has been telling me that he hasn’t been sleeping well, and that his practices are making it hard for him to rest.”

“I know Varric, I worry for him too. He is so young but he has already mastered the art of the Knight-Enchanter, the Mortalitasi, and Rift Mage. Now he is working on the old magics of Spirit Healer, and Force Mage, the lost arts of Shapeshifters, Arcane Warriors, and magics from the Dalish Keepers. He is pushing himself so hard, even Vivienne and myself are encouraging him to rest,” said Dorian with a sad expression.

“Now Kadan, please don’t look so sad, Connor is gonna be fine, he is a strong kid,” smirked Bull taking Dorian’s hand, “come on, cheer up. When we get back to the hold I’ll do those poses that you like.”

Varric rested his head in his palm as he walked, letting out an exasperated sigh. Dorian smiled and walked along with Bull. The small moment was shattered when they heard a scream echo down from the hall. The trio sprinted around the corner to see that Connor had just smashed two greater terrors into the ground with a rift pulse and then he mercilessly slashed his spirit blade across their throats. The two terrors disintegrated and then the rift burst.

“I am done with this undead army shit,” hissed the young archon as he moved to seal the rift. He raised his hand and synchronized with unstable schism. He cried out as the rift pulsed against him not wanting to close. With a final push, he swung his arm away from the rift and it slammed shut, leaving him collapsing into the water that was pooling on the floor.

Connor felt the sound vibrate around him, his ears ringing from the small blast; he could hear muffled voices and shouts. His vision was going dark and he could see light of the exit before his consciousness left him.

…

“Sweet Maker what happened to him,” yelled Cullen. He had just arrived at the hold and was told that the Inquisitor had collapsed. “What is wrong with him Dorian, why is—”

“Cullen I don’t know, I think we are going to have to send a letter to Solas. He might know what’s happening to the boy.”

Cullen looked at Dorian with disbelief, “Where are the others?”

“I sent Bull, Varric, and Cole to the village to arrest the Mayor.”

“What, why?”

“The Mayor flooded old Crestwood drowning innocent families, out of fear of the blight. Connor found a journal from a small girl, and we all saw their remains.”

Cullen looked at the mage horrified and then turned back to Connor. He reached out a tentative hand to brush hair from the resting Mage’s face, but halted when he realized he wasn’t alone.

“Commander?”

“Yes Dorian,” sighed Cullen exasperated.

“I know about you and Connor.” Cullen’s blood froze in his veins. He opened his mouth to speak but Dorian silenced him with a wave of his hand. “I am happy he has someone like you to look after him, he needs it. You really care for him and that is more than he has had in a long time.”

“You don’t mind,” inquired Cullen with a deep blush.

“Of course not you daft twit, I am with Bull, why would I mind. I am happy for you, I am happy for you both. Also, don’t worry I won’t tell anyone, that is yours and Connor’s responsibility.” Dorian smiled lightly. “I will leave you to tend to him, and meet with the others. Oh and Cullen he really does love you. When he was thrashing about having a nightmare the other night I tried to calm him, but he only called out for you.”

Cullen sat in the bedchamber shocked and stunned. His heart ached that he wasn’t there to protect his lover, and he was happy to see that the first name on his lips was his own. Cullen reached down and brushed his hand through Connor’s hair and sighed, “What did you do to yourself.” Connor shifted and turned his head slightly, his once brown hair fell into his face again, now it was the color of shimmering starlight. His ears were pointed slightly, standing out against his close cut sides. Cullen brushed the hair from his face again laid next to the boy; he wrapped his arms protectively around Connor’s chest and drifted off into a worried sleep.

…

Connor woke up gasping from a nightmare, he felt something wrapped around his chest and struggled against it until he heard Cullen’s voice, “Connor…Connor please it is just me, please just calm down.”

The young mage settled and met eyes with Cullen. His own amethyst eyes staring deeply into Cullen’s amber pools. He breathing slowed and he turned slightly to face him. “What happened, where am I?”

Cullen smiled slightly, “You’re back at the hold. Dorian said you went into a bit of a panic in the caves and then when you closed the rifts you passed out from exhaustion. You have been asleep for about a day. Dorian and the others are currently going after the Mayor, and I am here with you.” The blond man gently pulled Connor close and placed light kisses across the back of his neck. “You’re safe now; you’re with your lion.”

Connor shivered and let out a breathy sigh from the kisses. He settled his back against Cullen’s when Dorian rushed into the room.

“Cullen, they Mayor is missing, Cole has lost—Fasta Vas,” cursed the Tevinter as he saw as Connor’s eyes widened. “Connor no—don’t please don’t, it’s not your—”

The young archon pulled away from Cullen and flopped out of bed. His eyes narrowed and he ran out of the bedchamber into the rain; his bare feet splashing in the water as he ran across the battlements.

“CONNOR!” Cullen screamed as he chased after him.

Connor didn’t look back he just willed his staff and spirit blade handle to his side and then he leapt , rain soaking through the white linen as he flew past the battlement wall. Cullen watched in horror as his love threw himself from the wall. Then there was a purple flash as Connor transformed into a jet-black raven. Its eyes were still vibrant purple and its feathers the color of his cloak.

Connor raced away from the keep he needed to escape and get away. As he flew, he could feel his heart settle as his fears fade away. He just needed somewhere quiet to sleep; somewhere quiet to recollect his thoughts. The swift form of his wings cut through the air, he could feel himself become elated at the sensation of flying through the air. Connor found his voice and cawed loudly as he landed in an old decrepit ruin of a hold. He let himself return to his human form.

Alone. Finally, alone, Connor sat at the base of the ruin and began to meditate and dream. He drew in the fade and moved to commune with the spirits in the area. Around him, the area began to shimmer and flourish with growth as vines and flowers sprouted all around him.

Connor finally pulled away after what felt like hours and sucked in a swift breath. His body went rigid. In front of him laid a dragon. Its large eyes narrowed and its maw opened, the breath expelled stank of death, rot, and the electrical burn. Connor recognized the beast from his books, the deep purple face faded into a dusty orange body with stripes of white. _Northern Hunter._ Connor took a deep breath and used his fade cloak. The dragon roared in a rage and Connor charged. He rematerialized in its wing to cripple it, and then he lashed out with his spirit blade to cut at the beast’s hard scales.

The dragon turned and quickly spun knocking Connor to the ground. The creature then pinned the young mage under its claw. Connor could feel the dragon call lightning into its maw, and then there was a bright flash. Hawke jumped from a nearby ledge and blasted the side of the dragon’s face giving Connor and opening. He thrust his spirit blade into the side of the dragon’s skull and watched as it collapsed to the ground life less.

“Connor are you okay,” called Hawke, “Cullen and the others are looking for you and they ran into me, and my contact Warden Stroud. We saw the dragon land and I got a bad feeling. Are you hurt?”

Connor looked at the other mage stunned, “Yes Hawke I am fine. How did you know I was—?”

“Solas found me and said that you were a rift mage. Therefore, when I felt the fade being warped in a large area either it was a rift or it was you. I just happened to get luck.”

“Hawke,” a gruff voice called, “Now is this the Inquisitor I take it, or are you just saving every poor sod that runs around in his night clothes in the middle of a thunderstorm.”

Hawke laughed, “Connor, I give you Warden Stroud, Warden Stroud this is Connor Trevelyan, the Inquisitor.”

Hawke, I thought you said that the Inquisitor was human noble. This boy here looks like he has Elven blood in him.”

Connor looked at Stroud with confusion, “What do you mean by that, I know I am lanky, but clearly I am human. Hawke what’s going on?”

Before Hawke could reply the rest of the search party charged in. Dorian wore a sour expression over ruining his robes, Bull and Cullen looking furious over the fact that he ran, and Cole and Solas wore sad worried expressions.

…

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN I AM CHANGING,” screamed Connor in the cramped council room. He was sitting by a fireplace wrapped in bandages and blankets, trying to heal his wounds, and fight off the beginnings of a cold.

“Well,” said Solas gently, trying to diffuse the tension, “your body seems to want to change and become well, more Elven. It seems the stronger you become the more you seem to change, but I still don’t understand it fully.”

Connor moped under the blankets and sneezed pitifully. Cullen still looked at him with a hard expression, as if he was thinking of the different ways to scold him. “Why would you just run off like that, you almost got eaten by a dragon Connor?”

“Well I didn’t, instead I fought and killed a high dragon all by myself.”

Bull snorted in trying to calm the pair, “I mean that was kinda cool, Boss took down the big bitch in nothing but his night dress.”

“Bull now is not the time,” snapped Cullen, “Connor you could have gotten yourself killed.”

“Well I didn’t, _Commander_ , you don’t get to decide what is right or wrong for me. I can make the decisions for my own life.”

Cullen looked at him furious and cussed. Turning sharply he stormed out of the room and slammed the door. Connor flinched heavily at the sound.

“As much as I love that you killed a dragon boss, you did just run off and freaked us all out. Why did you run away, we have Leliana sending a battalion of her best scouts to track down the Mayor—?”

“It’s not just him, it is the fact that innocent people were slaughtered and he thought he could just run away from it. It is just like the Madame from Emprise du Lion, or the warring Templars or Mages, innocents die because people decide it on a whim.”

The remaining members froze, shock riddled their faces. Connor looked at them exhausted and broken, his eyes were full of pain. The members of the inner circle forgot that even though Connor was their leader, he was till only a boy of nineteen. They forget that sometimes he is still just but a child.

“Stroud,” murmured the boy, “what is the information you have on the Grey Wardens?”

The Grey Warden recounted the information of the false calling. The fear that was being spread by this nightmare. He told them all about how Warden Commander Clarel was using blood magic to charge down into the deep roads with and army of demons to out charge the next Blight. The members cursed under their breath and looked to Connor. He turned back to them with cold eyes.

“Tomorrow morning we ride to the Western Approach to the old Grey Warden Alter. I will not let this army come to fruition. If lives are to be lost, then it shall be the lives of those who are killing the innocent. There will be blood.”


	12. A Siege on the Bloody Adamantine Will

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor and Cullen now stand at odds. Connor is beginning to change, but is it for the better. Also, Warden Stroud and Hawke help uncover a plot for a demon army using the Wardens. Can Connor and Cullen stop them before they loose one another for good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Everyone, so firstly, I am so sorry this has taken so long. I do hope you didn't mind too much. College is determined to kill me. I am a double major, for Vocal performance and music business, so I have to memorize and obscene amount of music, and practice way too much. Anyways, I will keep this story going and thank you for supporting my work, I love you all.  
> Connor Trevelyan.

A Siege on the Bloody Adamantine Will

            Sand coursed through the air and ran raw against the flesh of the war party. Cassandra, Solas, Vivienne, and Dorian made their way across the shifting expanse of desert, following Connor. Frozen Wind hissed miserably in the grueling heat of the desert sun, and Connor was just as miserable.

Shadows hung under his eyes as he sniffled and coughed. The blistering heat and the sickness that he gathered from his tryst in the rain with dragon, took their toll on the young Mage. His body ached, his nose ran, and his throat was raw from coughing. Solas said there was nothing that could be done, but simply, “Wait for this storm to pass.”

Dorian and Vivienne were riding Dracolisks like Connor, but theirs were more adapt to the harsh temperatures of the Desert. Solas kept close to Connor on a breed of Hart called, _Royal Sixteen_. Solas took to calling the Hart, _Ajuelan_ , or Creator, because this breed is a sacred breed of Hart that can heal with its horns. Cassandra road along on another Orlesian stallion and kept pace with the swift travel of the party.

The young mage cursed and swore under his breath as coughs racked his lithe frame; he was trying to be strong but he felt like the act of breathing was a tremendous task. He wanted nothing more than to fall from his mount and discard every piece of his armor.

“Solas, how much farther until we reach the rendezvous point that Hawke mentioned,” asked Connor wearily.

“Not much farther. I have to thank you again Madame Vivienne for the map, this is the most complete map of the Western Approach I have seen.”

“Well my dear,” chimed Vivienne, “don’t thank me, that would be thanks to the Scholar you recruited on your first excursion here in this waste. Ser Fredric was more than happy to give us any and all mappings and geologies thanks to our young Inquisitor helping him with his dragon research.”

Connor slumped glumly, “I didn’t really help with his research, he had me fight bandits, lay a simple bait trap, and then get chased around by a raving bitch of an Abyssal High Dragon. I had singe marks on my coat from that.”

“Luckily the cloak Dorian and I got you has flame wards on it to keep it from burning,” chimed Vivienne, “besides, even though you feel like you didn’t do much apparently you did a lot according to the scholar. Any allegiance is a good thing my dear.”

The young mage huffed and stuck out his tongue before another coughing fit ripped through his body. Clutching his chest, he heaved and wheezed until finally it simmered down to a dull roar. Connor slumped against Frozen Wind’s neck and the Dracolisk hissed sympathetically. The others moved to aid him but he waved them off. He didn’t have time to be coddled like a child, besides, his foul mood only worsened the situation.

Marching forward through the sands Connor eventually took sight of two figures crouching in the shadow of an ancient ruin. Dismounting ungracefully, and trudging through the sand the Connor arrived before Warden Stroud and Hawke.

“I am glad you made it Inquisitor,” thanked Stroud, eyeing him with concern, “I fear they’ve already started the ritual.”

Hawke whispered with growing tension, “It has to be blood magic. I hope we can stop them before more people get hurt.” Hawke raised his bladed staff and began to let sparks coil in his fingers. “You take point; I’ll guard your backs.”

Connor shifted slightly and unsheathed his staff; the air crackling lightly with the pulse of magic. Dorian hands filled with frost and Vivienne’s filled with fire. Cassandra drew her blade and raised her shield as she moved at the head of the group. Connor pulsed out his glimmering Spirit Blade, and his staff hummed with the light trill of enchanted lightning.

They proceeded across a narrow bridge towards the main body of the ruin. Acrid air swelled around the old stone and sickeningly green miasma swirled in the center around a gathering of Grey Wardens. The tang of blood filled the air as several Grey Wardens stood motionless, in line with Demons of Rage. A single warden was being backed against a stone wall cornered by one of his comrades.

“Wait…no,” he pleaded.

In response a Tevinter Magister dressed in royal white finery and plate stepped forward. His mustache and goatee, slick and oily as his black hair. His eyes a seething swampy green; both of them cold and calculating. His voice called down to the young Warden with pompous contempt, “Warden-Commander Clarel’s orders were clear”

“This is wrong,” yelled the young man again turning to face the Magister.

The magister smiled cruelly and lectured, “Remember your oath: In war victory, in peace vigilance, in death…” The Mage Warden that was cornering his friend quickly brought his blade too his companions throat. Blood poured from the wound, and a muffled cry echoed as the young man drowned in his blood. “Sacrifice.”

An enkindled rage demon spilled forth from a rift that had formed, and turned towards the living Warden with murderous intent.

“Good,” called the Magister, “now bind it, just as I showed you.”

The Warden Mages raised his hand and pulsed a similar rift energy at it. The Magister took this moment to weave his own spell and both the demon and the Warden were wrapped in a rouge aura. The Warden devoid, suddenly, of all emotion and thought.

Connor arrived breathing heavily on the strain on his body. Smugly the Magister greeted them, “Inquisitor, what an unexpected pleasure.” He bowed deeply, exuding pompous demeanor. “Lord Livius Erimond of Vyrantium, at your service.”

“You are no warden,” bellowed Stroud.

Erimond bit back, “But you are, the one that Clarel let slip. And you found the Inquisitor and came to stop me. Shall we see how that goes.”

Connor noticed the bodies of the dead Wardens and spat acridly, “It looks like you’ve already done some of my work for me.”

“What, them,” chided Erimond, “We simply needed his blood. Oh, were you hoping to garner sympathy? Maybe make the Wardens feel a bit of remorse. Wardens, Hands UP!” the enthralled Wardens raised their hands blindly and without question. “Hands down.” Again the Wardens lowered their hands.

“Corypheus has taken their minds,” called Stroud aghast.

“They did this to themselves, you see. The calling had the Wardens terrified, they looked _everywhere_ for help. And since it was my master who put the calling into their little heads, we in the Venatori were prepared. I went to Clarel full of sympathy, and together we came up with a plan—”

Connor snapped, “Raise a demon army, march into the deep roads, and kill the remaining old gods before they awaken, I get it now, you’re insane. I do believe that it is time to move on. That is all I needed to know.”

“Oh please,” snipped Erimond. He raised his hand and a red aura swallowed his hand, and Connor’s mark began to flare. It brought the young archon to his knees in pain and he groaned pitifully. “The Elder one showed me how to deal with you, in the event that you were foolish enough to interfere again.”

Connor gritted his teeth and focused all of his will into the anchor.

“That mark that lets you pass through the rifts safely inquisitor, you stole from my master, and now he is forced to seek other access to the Fade.”

Connor felt as the energy built in his palm, his hand felt like it was going to burst.

“When I bring him your head, his gratitude will be—”

Connor flailed the anchor at the slight rift from the ritual ripping it open sucking the demons into it. The energy expelled sent Erimond flying into the stone, and the Wardens sprawling. Without hesitation the mages all had their staves drawn, Hawke moved to Connor’s side and both of them began to weave a storm of ice and lightning. Vivienne and Solas threw up barriers around their companions. Cassandra and Stroud quickly beheaded the remaining Wardens and then sheathed their blades. Erimond was gone. He had escaped, but Stroud knew where he was headed.

“They refused to listen to reason,” said Hawke.

“Only the mages,” said Connor, resting heavily on his staff, “The Wardens not bound to demons may be able to have reason brought to them. Stroud.”

“I am already aware, Inquisitor they moved to march from the fortress of Adamant.”

…

The cadence of war drums resounded, spurred on by the whistling of flaming arrows. The main hub of the forces of the Inquisition marched forward towards the ancient Grey Warden fortress. Flaming debris from the trebuchets sailed through the sky and into the walls. The Old stone gave and crumbled under the modern siege weapons.

“Inquisition, forward,” barked Cullen.

The Scouts and soldiers moved onward. Banners waved gallantly in the air, siege towers and ladders latched onto the walls, and the battering ram aligned with the door of the keep. Connor focused and grabbed on to the battery with the focus of a force mage. He and the soldiers began to smash and splinter the studded oaken door.

Grey Wardens cast arrows and stones upon them striking down and killing any who were unlucky enough to take an arrow or rock to the skull. Solas willed up a barrier with Vivienne and Dorian shielding Connor, but not before a large chunk of debris came down and smashed the head of a scout next to him. Connor froze covered in the blood of an innocent soldier. Her brown hair matted with pooling blood, her voice and life silenced forever.

This was too much, Connor was tired of the bloodshed; he grasped onto the batter and with as much will as he could he expelled it with a combination of the stonefist spell, and Fist of the Maker. The battery bashed through the doors, splinters and shards flew through the air, some even piercing the Grey Wardens and demons behind the door.

Connor charged through the door enraged, lightning bit through the foes, arcing and coursing through each entity. Sera followed closely behind loosing arrow after arrow into every foe in sight. The pair made quick work of the first wave and the inner circle charged into the fortress. Sera started counting each foe she downed, she had placed a bet with Varric, Dorian, and Bull that each of them would down the most enemies.

Cullen charged beyond his station towards Connor, and the mage spun accordingly sensing him. “Cullen what are you doing?”

“Helping you. The men can give you an opening here, but we can’t seem to get a holding up on the walls, if we want to take the fortress, you need to help Hawke and the second war party on the battlements.”

Connor nodded curtly, still furious, “Cullen.” Cullen turned. “Don’t do anything stupid, do not take any chances, I will fight this, you just need to keep the men as safe as possible.”

“But Connor—”

“Am I clear Commander?”

“Yes,” said Cullen begrudgingly, “but the same goes for you as well, Don’t do anything stupid.”

Connor smiled slightly, “Now Cullen, when do I ever do that.”

Cullen sighed and Connor dove back into the fray. The young archon used fade cloak to disappear into the battle. Connor’s spirt blade hummed as it cut through demon and Warden alike. Sera and Varric followed closely behind, each of them covering the young mage as he disappeared and rematerialized through the field.

“one hundred and three, and that last one counted as two because I shot him in his danglebag. What are you at Varric,” asked Sera amidst the fray?

“Damn buttercup, I am only at seventy-five. You really are on a rampage.”

“Will both of you focus,” chided Dorian, “besides I am at one hundred and twenty-seven.” Sera and Varric both looked at the magister aghast, and the Mage smiled smugly as he nonchalantly blasted a terror demon from the fortress wall. “twenty-eight.”

The party continued up the fortress and the fighting became more intense. Connor began to notice that Sera’s arrows began to shift slightly off center. Dorian and Bull’s reaction to the waves of demons became sluggish. The duration of the fight was beginning to show the signs of fatigue.

A Warden Knight enchanter locked spirit blades with Connor and bashed him across his face, causing his nose to bleed. The mindless Warden repeatedly stabbed at the young mage, his blade narrowly grazing his side. The icy chill of magic spilled through Connor, and he could feel the side of his armor become sodden with blood. With a swift kick, he brought his foot to the Warden’s jaw and then created a glyph of ice to freeze him solid. Landing from the kick, Connor quickly lashed out with stonefist shattering the warden and rending the hall clear of enemies.

…

Cullen brought his sword down through a wisp wreathed in ice. The wisp dispersed, and he moved onto the next creature. Despair demons floated eerily around the battlefield, raining ice and frost upon the forces of the Inquisition. Cullen countered them with some of the Templar litanies, and Leliana lashed out with barrage of arrows. Out of the corner of his eye, the Commander caught sight of Cole flitting around the field of battle. The young boy disported, and moved to Cullen’s side.

“Cullen, he feels wrong they all do.”

“They are possessed Cole, Corypheus has bound their minds to demons and taken over their will.”

“No not them, Connor, _hurt anger, wanting to end it all, but love loss and fear. They are trying to take it away again; they will not hurt my lion._ He’s scared, and he is strong.”

Cullen froze Connor was scared that he was going to die. He was afraid that he was going to lose the others and Cullen.

“ _My Dragon, my love. My heart aches, I will fight for you, these monsters will not take your family from you. Courage, love…Compassion_ ,” mumbled Cole absentmindedly killing a Warden Mage, “ _I am free, thank you._ Cullen, you are me, you are helping him and hurting him.”

Cullen looked at the spirit for only a moment, then nodded, “Yes Cole, now please help me help Connor, we must win.”

Cole smiled and then lashed out with his daggers, sinking into the shadows, he was helping. Cullen sighed and raised his sword with new conviction he had to win, he had to survive for Connor. Cullen charged and bashed a slew of lesser terrors from his path as his men moved to execute the downed demons. Cassandra rallied soldiers to his sides and moved with him to clear a section of the battlements.

…

Connor leaned against his staff along with Solas, Vivienne, and Dorian. Bull and Sera had been cut off from them when a collapsing wall exploded with silt and water from the flowing spring water that flowed through the fort. Blackwall had joined them and even the battle hardened Warden was pressed for his strength, as his shield was beginning to sag.

Connor coughed and sputtered, his illness was not making this battle any easier, but it was the sight of Commander Clarel executing a young Elven girl he had saved in Crestwood that caused him to vomit. The pungent sting of bile coated his throat as Erimond took his place next to the Warden Commander.

“Stop them we must complete the ritual,” snapped Erimond to the battalion of Grey Wardens that stood guard for the blood ritual.

Connor stepped forward and signaled for his friends not to follow. Connor moved to address the masses. “Clarel, if you complete that ritual, you’re doing exactly what Erimond wants.”

Erimond responded in lieu with his guise, “What, fight the Blight? Keeping the world safe from Darkspawn? Who wouldn’t want that? And yes, the ritual does require blood sacrifice, hate me for that if you must, but do not hate the Wardens for doing their duty.”

Clarel stood adamant next to Erimond, “We make the sacrifices that no one else will. Our warriors die proudly for a world that will never thank them.”

“And then your Tevinter ally binds the mages to Corypheus,” snapped Stroud as he raced in with Cullen and Hawke’s battalion cornering Erimond and the rest of the ritual. Shock and surprise race across Clarel’s face as she hears the name of the Elder One, and Erimond notices the fracture in your resolve.

“Clarel, these people will say anything to shake your confidence and resolve,” Erimond warned.

“Yes,” snapped Connor, “Like spare any Warden that didn’t attack us. Your warriors, and rogues are safe and unharmed, but it was the mages that were tied to demons that attacked us blindly.”

“You what,” exclaimed Clarel astonished.

“Please Clarel, don’t do this,” begged Connor.

Clarel stood, her resolve shaken, her eyes steeled as she ordered, “Bring it thorough.”

The Warden Mages blindly followed her order and began to flood the ritual rift with their magic. The air hissed and the rift formed letting a terrible roar echo from beyond the Fade.

“Please,” begged Hawke as he took his place at Connor’s side, “I have seen more than my share of blood magic. It is never worth the cost.” The mindless Mages brandished their staves and ignited their hands. The Wardens with their minds intact stood confused and stunned; trying to figure out what their next move was to be. The rift screeched again and mages lunged at the war party, but Solas, Dorian, and the other Mages, flash froze the assailants, leaving the warriors unharmed.

“I have no time for this,” snipped Erimond as he tapped his staff three time on the ground, “my maser thought you would interfere so he left me a little gift for you.”

The wind buffeted and crashed around the keep and an ear-piercing screech echoed over the fort. The dragon that attacked at Haven raced down out of the sky and towards the fortress. A stream of fire and red lyrium raced from its maw as it charged towards Connor. The young Mage dodged the blast and raised a barrier around himself and his companions. The dragon perched on a spire of the battlement and Clarel cast a single bolt of lightning into Erimond’s back.

“You betrayed us,” she snipped as she turned her focus towards the dragon. She loosed another bolt of electricity, and it found home in the side of the jaw of the beast. The dragon screeched and took flight again. Erimond took this moment to escape towards the battlements, with Clarel in pursuit. Connor and the inner Circle followed closely behind as the Grey Warden warriors fought against the demons spilling out of the second rift.

…

Cullen froze when he saw the immense creature descend upon the fort. Its large wings whipping up small storms amongst the desert sands. The creature a monstrous silhouette in the moonlight, and its cry piercing and chilling to the bone. A cry from one of his men brought him back to the ground.

A Grey Warden Mage was surrounded in a cloak of red mist, and Cullen felt his blood run cold. _Blood Mage._ Three more Warden Mages crowded around the small battalion that Cullen had led into the breach point. Each of them donning the same swirling bloody mist.

Men charged at them and then froze as they convulsed and screamed. Their bodies contorted and writhed in pain. Suddenly they were on the ground, free from the boil of their life blood. Cullen had raised his shield and had begun reciting the Litany of Andralla. His body ached under the strain; it had been so long and fight had become harder. Each Litany, each ability called for more and more lyrium, and the cutting it out made his head scream with each pulse.

The Mages stood unable to cast and Cullen lunged forward. He caught one of them with his shield knocking him to the ground. Using his forward momentum, Cullen swung out with his longsword and beheaded two of the blood mages. The men saw their Commander’s valiant efforts and rallied behind him. Under his Litanies of protection, the forces of the inquisition washed over the incapacitated Mages, and slew their demons. Cullen took reprieve and noticed as the dragon circled the back of the fortress, and he knew that, that is where Connor would be.

…

The white haired archon raced after Clarel with his companions following closely behind. Bull kept close to Connor smiling slightly.

“Why are you smiling Bull?”

“Well boss, though I hate the demon shit, dragons always make things interesting.”

Connor shrugged and raced forward. Sera was cursing and firing arrow after arrow into the Wardens and demons that tried to stop them, Blackwall and Cassandra created a shield line blocking frontal assault in the narrow corridors, and Vivienne, Dorian, and Solas all released spells of every affinity. Cole flitted around the outskirts helping innocent Wardens to escape and to silently execute foes. Finally, the crowd broke and Connor caught sight of Clarel silently casting a barrier to block Erimond’s flame as she charged the Tevinter.

“You,” bit Clarel with seething rage, “You destroyed the Grey Wardens.”

Laughing weakly, Erimond responded, “You did that to yourself; you stupid bitch. All I had to do was dangle a little power in front of you, and you couldn’t wait to get your hands bloody.”

Clarel knocked him back with stonefist, and then sent him flying across the ground with a blast of fire and lightning. Erimond rolled on the ground moaning slightly and smoking. Clarel pointed her staff under his jaw pinning him.

“You could have served a new god,” Erimond hissed.

“I will never serve the Blight,” exclaimed Clarel.

Connor watched as Clarel had the upper hand, but only for a moment. The dragon swiftly landed behind them and snatched Clarel in its jaws. Blood and bone spilled and shattered under its teeth. The dragon tossed Clarel to the ground and cornered the Connor and his companions at the edge of the battlements.

“In war…Vic-tory. I-In Peace V-Vigilance,” mumbled Clarel as she died. Lightning grew into her hand. “In…Death.” The dragon lunged and Clarel fired a blast of lightning, shattering the battlement, and causing the dragon to crash and collapse the stone.

The dragon crashed and shattered the stone. The structure began to crumble with the inner circle on it. Hawke and Stroud reacted first they pushed Erimond away from the stone and into safety. Varric, Cole, Blackwall, Cassandra, and Vivienne all made it to the stable stone as they watched their friends scramble for safety. The battlement gave and collapsed ripping down the surrounding towers. Connor and his friends fell down towards the abyss.

His mind raced and he swung out with the anchor. The residual ritual energy complied and a giant rift opened and swallowed the few companions that fell. Their screams echoed as they were cast beyond the Fade.

…

Cullen heard it before it happened. The cry of the dragon and the rumble of stone as it collapsed. He watched in horror as fire, and debris rained down upon the area, where Connor was at from the towers. Cullen watched as the Fortress was reduced to rubble. Water, poured from busted tunnels and irrigation pipes, and the sounds of war became silent in his mind. _No_ , this was all his mind could do, all he could think as he watched as his lover was buried alive.


	13. To Face a World of Dreams and Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now Falling into the world of Dreams, Connor must now come to terms with his life. Can he break through, or will he be swallowed by nightmares. Connor also grows here as a person and in his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do hope everyone is still al for this story. College has been crazy honestly who knew that double majoring would literally have you like not sleeping. *Please sense the sarcasm* Anyways I do hope you guys love this next chapter, it was a lot of fun to write, and I found that for some reason that L.A. Devotee by Panic at the Disco! was my go to song for writing and reading this. Hope you all enjoy and soon the relation ship is going to grow, we have passed the halfway point. Love you all and feel free to comment with ideas or theories, or whatever I love reading what my readers have to say. anyways peace out,  
> Connor Trevelyan.

To Face a World of Dreams and Nightmares

Connor watched as the ground sped towards him; he closed his eyes and readied himself for impact. Then he felt himself float gently and then hover. He was unharmed. He sat suspended lightly over the ground; reaching out he touched the earth and then whatever was holding him afloat let him drop to the ground.

The world shifted around him, swirling shades of miasmic green made up the sky. Stones floated aimlessly, crashing and colliding; shards of black coarse rock spiraling through the air without direction. The world seemed to shape itself on a whim. Water flowed up from glistening pools on the ground ascending to unknowing heights, and rivulets flowed from the floating stones back into the black earth. In the sky aimless vortices spiraled endlessly, colliding and consuming one another. In the distant horizon floating amongst the sickening sky stood a collection of light and black spires. A city of dark and disfigured stone pillars; then it came to Connor’s understanding. That was the Black City, they were in the Fade.

“Shit, shit, shit, shitty, shit-shit, no we are not where I think we are, no, SHITE NO,” panicked Sera.

“Where do you think we are then Sera,” inquired Solas taking in the surroundings.

“Boss,” grumbled Bull, “I said I would follow you anywhere, but no one said anything about being dragged through the ass end of demon town.”

“WHERE THE FUCKING SHITE-BALLS DO YOU THINK I THINK; WE ARE IN THE—NO I AM NOT GOING TO I—DAMMIT,” yelled Sera pacing.

“Fasta Vass,” snipped Dorian to himself, “the Chantry will love this, another Tevinter Magister physically in the Fade. The last time this happened Corypheus and the darkspawn were created. Connor are we really here, I mean I am not dreaming?”

“I…I don’t remember…I don’t…I can’t,” began Connor as he turned towards his companions.

Hawke, and the others gasped when Connor turned towards them. Sera and Bull flinched slightly away.

“What, what’s the matter,” asked Connor.

“It is you,” said Solas, “you are the Fade, your eyes, they are glowing.”

Connor stuttered for a moment, “Sera is this what you meant from before, when you said I glowed?”

“Yes,” Sera squeaked, “but now it is more look at yourself.”

Connor hurried quickly to a pool of water and looked at his reflection. His eyes were a vibrant glowing purple, with slit pupils. His skin seemed to glow with a hazy golden light, the anchor glowing a vibrant emerald and his lyrium scars glowing blue almost giving his hand a spectral glowing gauntlet. His head was wreathed in a halo of blue and golden flame. But it was what was on his back that drew the most attention. In contradiction to his black cloak, vibrant celestial wings took shape. The curled against his back shrouding him. He looked like a dragon.

“What is this?”

“Connor,” answered Solas, “this is how you look in the Fade, being Grand Magus you are also a Somniari, a dream mage. You are highly attuned to the fade, but look at your physical features you, look more human now.”

Connor nodded and then moved to his companions he gathered them together so they could plan and recover, Dorian, Solas, and Connor all healed wounds as Hawke and Stroud, tossed ideas of how to escape the Fade. The more magic Connor called upon the brighter he glowed, he was a beacon of light, a beacon of hope in the Fade. Hawke and the other moved on the notion that the rift was still open, and theoretically since that is where the demons were pouring out, that would be their way out as well.

The group proceeded through the twists and turns of the fade, ascending descending stairs, traveling along routes that would bring them parallel with what they thought was the ground. Moving along Connor’s light seemed to act as a signal, as lesser demons began to fall upon them. The demons fell before their power; Connor, Solas, Hawke, and Dorian all gained a boost to their spells from the Fade. Each enchantment gathered potency from the world around them, the Fade warping and changing itself to better amplify each incantation. Flames swelled and burned brighter, ice bit even harsher into flesh, and lightning branched and writhed through the air, coiling and blistering demons left and right.

Sera, Stroud, and Bull clamored against the small waves of demons. Connor conjured arrows of ice and stone for Sera to shoot when her quiver ran dry. Bull fought at Dorian’s side, his movements precise, but also lacking restraint. The realization that they had entered the Fade, had put Sera and Bull on edge. Sera fired arrows in rapid succession, piercing demons to the impassive black stone of the shifting terrain. Stroud fought in tandem with Hawke. His griffin shield catching the claws of demons, and rending them to dull shards. Stroud’s blade whistled as it flitted through the air, and Connor enchanted it with a glyph of fire.

With a flaming blade Stroud took lead of the forward defense. He battled fiercely like the Grey Wardens of legend. His blows decisive and clear cut; each unyielding as it cleaved sinew from ossein. Hawke complimented his blows with his own, the blade on his staff rending flesh from the demons that charged the party.

“Duck,” shouted Bull the members of the party as he lifted is great sword. On his command everyone dropped to the floor and Bull let out a raging roar. He loosed his blade and imbued it with the wrath of a Reaver. His bloodlust surged as he spun wildly decapitating the surrounding host of demons. Finally, his rage came to an end and he leaned heavily against his blade heaving. “Alright, all the fucking demons are dead, your welcome. Can we please be done with demon-town now?”

The group stood astonished at the sight. Demons were receding and disintegrating back into the Fade, their essence shattered and destroyed. Slowly the group recovered and all that was left was the eerie silence of the spirit world and pitiful sound of Connor choking under another coughing fit. Suddenly a figure in red chantry robes appeared, Divine Justinia.

“Child, I have watched you for some time now.”

“Are you really Divine Justinia,” asked Connor as he willed a small barrier around himself and his companions.

The Divine shook her head slightly with a small smile, “This is the Fade, where you saw me last, please, you must remember.” Wraiths and wisps formed from the miasma around them. “Kill these creatures, the servants of the Nightmare. He is the demon that rules this area of the Fade, reclaim your memories.”

Connor burst into action as the Divine took cover. He willed the fade to warp and change, trapping and crushing some of the wisps. Upon their death small orbs of green flame would flow into Connor’s heart. When the last wisp fell and its flame was absorbed Connor double over clutching his head and his heart. Warping to form the scene of his memories, the Fade showed the image of Divine Victoria being suspended by possessed Grey Warden Mages. Corypheus approached the divine with the orb in hand; slitting his wrist he began to perform a blood ritual as the Divine screamed. Connor burst through the doors and managed to grab the attention of the Magister long enough for Justinia to smack the orb from his hands.

Connor yelled, coiled on the ground as the scene played out before him. It showed him as he dove for the orb. His left hand catching the orb as he coiled it into his chest. A flash of green echoed and the orb released its energy upon the scene. The Conclave exploded and the others feared for themselves as the explosion consumed their surroundings.

Sera yelled and screamed, Bull and Dorian latched onto one another, Bull raising his great sword as a shield as Dorian cast a barrier. Stroud and Hawke both flinched and raised their arms to cover their face. Only Solas remained unnerved, as he proceeded to crouch next to Connor and help the boy to his feet. Connor remained coiled on the ground sobbing from the surge of new memories. Sera snapped at this and kneeled next to Solas.

“Hey, Quizzy, you okay? Con, please it is going to be alright no crying on us. You gotta be strong with this magic shite; I’d make a shit-tastic, mage so you gotta be strong for me. Please Con, I am here.”

Sera rubbed his shoulders gently and Solas sent minor pulses of healing magic to break away the pain from his flooded mind. Divine Justinia flitted silently and knelt amongst the others, Sera watched her warily, and Solas moved to keep himself at a small, but safe distance. Ignoring them both she leaned over to Connor’s ear and whispered lightly.

“There are more spirits and memories to be found. You need to be strong, be strong like you were for me, like you are for your friends, for your _lion_. Gather them all and then face your fears, then you can leave.”

            The Divine quickly stood and turned her back from the small group. Two stones Collided and a creature roared loudly drawing their attention but only for a moment. When they focused again, Connor was breathing heavily, but no longer crying, and that Divine Justinia was gone. She had vanished.

            Connor began to pull himself together, he rested into Sera until he stopped shaking from the memories. Hawke and Stroud began to argue who was a fault; Stroud arguing for the Warden’s innocence, and Hawke called for their persecution in their involvement for the death of the Divine. The two warriors argued until Connor’s voice broke the conversation. It was cracked and harsh, but with an edge of conviction, “Will you two shut the fuck up!”

            The group was silence by this outburst as they looked at the young Mage. His eyes were red and puffy, but in the amethyst centers burned a fiery will. Connor gave them both a stern look, “Now as much as you two need to have a sit down, I suggest we survive this hell hole and then we move onto killing one another.”

            Hawke and Stroud nodded complacently and then they all moved to gather their gear and process towards the main rift. Along the way more wisps assimilated from the memories and the energy of the Fade. Connor smirked and lunged forward lashing out at them when a deep raspy voice called to them. “Connor Trevelyan, the failure, the whore of the Templars. You have no meaning, you will try to steal back these fears, why? I gave you a gift.” Connor muttered something quietly to himself his hand firmly wrapped around the ‘Heart of Fire’, his staff lashing out and destroying another one of the memory wisps. “What about you Sera, you fear this. This is all real, you are in your hell. Your nightmares are here, the demons will claim you here in the manifestation of your doubt, they will take you, and devour your very being.”

            “Shut it, shut it, shut it. Hey mysterious evil titface, suck my arrow shaft, you shite bag. Connor, Solas, Dorian what is this fucking shite.”

            “Ahh Dorian, your father would be so proud,” echoed the voice as the party fought off the shades and spirits gathering, “you entered the Fade like the Tevinters of old; you would be honored and you know your father would maybe finally accept you. I could help you. I could take the Qunari from you.”

            Bull responded fiercely as his great sword sliced through a demon, “Not a fucking chance, I will gut you before you even think of taking him from me.”

            “Now Qunari, I like your spirit. You would make a great skin for my minions, or maybe I would even wear my skin myself what do you think of that?”

            Before Bull could respond Connor absorbed the last of the memory flames. The scene showed as he and Justinia were being chased through Fade by a wave of spider like fearlings. Justina called to the young archon his eyes brown and wide with fear. His dark hair matted with blood, but in his eyes, deeper than the fear, a fire burned. Justinia took Connor’s hand and dragged him over the upper edge and pushed him towards the Rift. “ _Run_.” She screamed and the pushed him forward. Connor looked back and saw that she had been caught in the arms of the Nightmare. It reached out to Connor, but Justinia’s words hit him first and he ran. The Rift collapsed and Connor walked out of the Fade unharmed and collapsed to the ground.

            This time Connor remained standing and he finished his last utterance as a rings of blue and gold fire wrapped around himself and his companions. “The litany of Andralla, and the canticle of the Maker’s city from the chant,” smirked the Mage.

            The voice roared, “YOU WILL NOT ESCAPE ME AGAIN, YOU WILL FEAR ME AND WALLOW IN DESPAIR.”

            Connor screamed back and the flames grew brighter. Then from the sidelines Justinia emerged and she smiled. “Go my child, you can save them, you can win,” she whispered lightly as her form began to glow. The divine burst into a visage of glowing golden light, her aura and presence heavenly, and powerful.

            “Ir abalas, ma falon,” sighed Solas to Connor, “This is not the divine, this is a spirit. What she was is no more.”

            Connor shook his head and smiled at the figure, “Thank you, Justinia, for everything.” The spirit shifted slightly and nodded.

            The spirit of the glowing Divine halted only for a moment. She turned and spoke, her voice the voice of Justinia and the combined voice of a Chantry choir, “Mage…Inquisitor…Connor Trevelyan, tell Leliana that I am sorry, that I have failed her.” Then the spirit took off expelling herself against the rift and the demon trying to escape. Her final moments encapsulated in a large sunburst that consumed the surrounding field.

Crashing drew their attention as a large pus-covered, grub-like, spider made its way towards the rift, recovering from the blast of divine fire. The party charged and raced towards the tear. A figure formed and tendrils and claws manifested from the conglomeration of shadow, the Nightmare. The creature smirked and summoned more fearlings.

            “Watch out for the spiders, screamed Hawke.

            “Spiders,” shouted Sera, “I would kill for fuckin spiders, how are you not seeing this crazy shit. These bloody masked plagued people, plagued, children.”

            “These are aspects of fear,” shouted Solas. He will his staff with ice and swung it out in a wide arc. The ice formed a spike wall that dug and grew into several of the fearlings. “They will take the form of your fears.”

            Connor charged them, the images of his people, his companions, his lover, all warped and twisted amalgamations of red lyrium and abominations. ‘ _No more fear, no more weakness, you have something worth fighting for_ ,’ Connor screamed to himself. His flames burned bright and his spirit blade hummed to life. ‘ _You can use magic, you have a heart, you have a love. If you lose now, you will never see him again, you will never kiss him again, you will, never tell him that you love him._ ’ Connor lashed out and used his fade cloak in tandem with his fade step. He raced through the Nightmare freezing it into place. Channeling his will, Connor rematerialized in the creature, his blade whistling with the surge of magic and enchanted lightning coursing through it.

            “I don’t fear you, I have my fears back and you only made me stronger. People can grow with fear.” Connor twisted his blade and the Nightmare shattered into dust. The fearlings began to wither away. Not resting, Stroud and Hawke pushed on to charge the demon heading towards the rift.

            “I’ll distract it now go,” yelled Hawke as he pushed past Stroud. The Warden grabbed him and gave him a sad look.

            “You will die if you fight that thing Hawke, I can’t let you do that.” Stroud drew his blade and brought the pommel to the back of Hawke’s head. The champion faltered and collapsed and Stroud tossed him to Bull and Dorian. “Take him and go now, no debates, no argument, that is an order. NOW RUN DAMMIT.”

            Bull and Dorian looked stunned for a moment; Stroud was sacrificing himself for their well-being. The Warden glared at them, wanting to spur on their movements. Solas cussed and moved to lead the others into the rift.

            The air was crackling with magic as Connor gave one last ditch effort to warp the Fade, and tried to save Stroud. The Fade rippled with lightning, but the demon pushed back and sent a bolt into Connor knocking the wind from his lungs. Connor flew back, until he landed in a small pool on the black stone floor. Stroud was screaming and charging towards the demon’s maw, when Connor felt a hand on him.

            “Quizzy, we have to go now, no more debated, we need to leave,” Yelled Sera. She shouldered her bow and wrapped her arms around Connor’s chest. Connor struggled and screamed. “Dammit Connor please, its either him or all of us.” Sera held tight as the young Archon’s voice cracked and sputtered through the air. The young boy struggled hard against the rogue, but to no avail. For all of Connor’s screams and cries, Sera held tight and dragged them both through the rift.

            The last thing that crossed the young Archon’s vision was the lone Warden standing his own against the demon. He, singlehandedly charging towards the maw of the beast and lunging into its twisted face. Tendrils and pincers encircled the warden as his blade bit into the creature’s pale flesh. Black blood and ichor showered the Warden and the rift closed around Connor, blocking the last of the fight.

…

            The roaring of the rift filled Connor’s ears and then a subtle humming sound. He stood circumscribed in Sera’s arms, his figure leaning heavily against her own. His voice hoarse, his eyes puffy and sore. Quickly he turned and perceived the glowing rift. Steadying himself he reached out with his hand and touched the flowing gash of mana. The rift resonated with his anchor and with a subtle flick the rift was sealed and shut.

            Connor collapsed against his ruined staff, his emotions racing. He had condemned Stroud to death against the demon, he had sealed him into the Fade, His forces had been at war, the Grey Wardens were all but destroyed, and his heart ached for Cullen, it ached to feel safe and just be done with this war.

            “Connor,” Cullen called out as he saw the Mage fall teeter on his staff.

            The young Archon faced him his eyes full of sorrow and relief. Before either of them knew what they were doing Connor had seized Cullen by his collar, and Cullen had taken the mage by his waist. The pair nearly pulled one another off balance as their lips collided in a passionate kiss.

            The kiss was raw and ungraceful, their teeth clicked together, but Cullen took Connor’s jaw in one hand and deepened the kiss. The kiss soon faded from raw emotion to passion as their tongues danced, each of them savoring the touch of the other. The moment became intimate as the two embraced, a commander and a Mage…in full view of Leliana, her scouts, the forces of the Inquisition, the shattered Wardens, and the inner circle.

            Finally, both men broke apart still holding the other close in their arms, the realization of what they had just done, and who they did it in front of flooded in. Connor flushed a deep crimson and tucked himself into Cullen; this only causing heat to rise in the commander’s ears as the pair took in the expressions of their companions. Cassandra stood awestruck, her jaw hanging loose, only to be matched by Varric’s own equally abashed expression. Solas looked at them with a sly glance only flitting in his eyes, his lips in a light smile. Hawke wore a wide grin, gently slapping Varric on the back. Blackwall stood stunned and then chuckled to himself at the situation looking away to save them both some grief. Cole smiled brightly as them, he had probably put it together that they were good for one another. Vivienne was less surprised and more happily annoyed, as she smiled but rolled her eyes indicating at their poor timing. Dorian snorted and held out his hand as Leliana moodily placed two gold coins into it. His expression of smug victory and approval, and Leliana’s one of irritated joy.

            Then there was Iron Bull and Sera. They were losing their minds, and rather loudly. Both of them excited and happy, but had a million questions. Finally, they both settled for starting a round of applause and hooting for Connor and Cullen. The applause grew slowly and steadily amongst the spies and the soldiers who were at war. Scouts tentatively clapping for their commander’s romantic success.

            Cullen stood abashed at his own courage and then looked down towards Connor. The young Mage looked up to him red-faced, and then lightly met his lips again. This caused Sera and Bull to holler even louder.

            “Holy freaking Shite, Quizzy and Jackboot, this is too much. Quizzy do you hear me? You keep that one okay. Holy fucking Maker,” shouted Sera as she collapsed firmly on her arse.

            Bull replied snarkily, “Now Commander, don’t tell me you’ve got a soft spot now, you have to be in charge on the field and in the sack.”

            The pair blushed the deepest shade of red that they could and then they finally turned to settle things. Though the moment was light hearted the mood faded quickly, Connor addressed the debilitated ranks of Grey Wardens. He conscripted them into the ranks of the Inquisition to bolster their own ranks, as well as provide the Wardens with a place to recuperate and start anew. He acknowledged the death of the Warden Stroud, and his sacrifice. Connor spoke in his memory, calling on the future Grey Wardens to exercise Stroud’s level of caution and morality.

            Connor then called for the forces to disperse, and to begin setting up Inquisition control over the Fortress. Soldiers were sent on repairs, guard rotations, and medical assistance. The ruined fortress buzzed with life and Cullen slipped away with Connor. Finally, alone in a small abandoned room Connor let his walls crumble.

            “I am so sorry Cullen, I shouldn’t have been so short with you,” Connor bawled, his fists tightly gripping the front of Cullen’s armour.

            “Connor, I promise you, you have nothing to worry about, it’s fine. Now let’s get out of our armour and then we can rest.”

            Connor sobbed quietly as Cullen removed his dented plate and shredded leather. His own armour was sundered and broken. Cullen discarded his gear until the pair was standing dressed in a linen tunic and trousers.

            “Cullen, my lion, I am so tired of this all, all of this wanton death.”

            “Shhh now, just rest. We will make it through this. You have to be strong, Connor, you can do this, you are my dragon,” whispered Cullen as he took the young boy into his arms. The pair rested against the wall and Connor fell asleep sobbing in Cullen’s embrace as the golden haired man gently ran his hands through Connor’s hair.


	14. Flowering Familial Bonds and Friendships

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the months that follow Adamant, Connor helps the inquisition grow. Bonds are forged and romances bloom. Our Commander seeks advice, and everyone's favorite scout may have caused some severe mischief. Will this spell trouble and ruin bonds, or build them anew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so this is a super long chapter. This took so much effort. I have been super busy with college. Also I have two pieces of fanart I was submitted by two anon users. If anyone could tell me how to post them here. I would really like to show them off, these are amazing. Finally, the last scene was really difficult for me to write, coming from my own experience being the same as Connor's, as well as this being one of the few times I have written romance scenes. So, please feel free to comment and talk to me about it. I really put my blood, sweat, and tears, into this chapter.  
> love always,  
> TheFallenStar,  
> Connor Trevelyan.

Flowering Familial Bonds and Friendships

            Weeks had passed since Adamant, and in that time the Inquisition became a stronger beacon of hope for all of Thedas. The fabled Grey Wardens had fallen, and then were saved by the Grand Magus, the Inquisitor. The stories grew and so did Connor’s renown, as well as the renown of his people.

            The mages began excursions to monitor for rift activity, and as healers to the lands damaged by the rifts. The recovering Warden now moved in all facets to bolster their numbers, and act as extra hands for the branches of the inquisitions reach. Grey Wardens applied themselves to the scouting parties, moving to unearth relics from the Deep Roads, fighting darkspawn, and even helping by sharing old treaties and information against the darkspawn and Corypheus. It was through these efforts that Corypheus was revealed to be one of the original magisters that broke into the Fade.

            Amongst the Chaos of the rest of the world Connor had found himself in small storms amongst his inner circle.

            Walking down the stairs of the fortress Connor was trying to find a moments peace. His head was swimming with orders and reports; along with old scriptures and texts that he was studying. The fall air was crisp and cold, the scent of mead and ale carried from the tavern. Soldiers, scouts, liaisons, and nobles all walked the grounds. The scene was busy, yet Connor found comfort in these walks; well until he heard shouting. Quickly he rounded the corner to the grounds to find Solas and Cole yelling at one another.

            “Cole, please calm down,” eased Connor, “please explain to me again why you are yelling at Solas.”

            “The Wardens, they bound demons. I want to be free, not to hurt, but to heal. To help. I told Solas to bind me. Make me, me. I don’t want to be lost,” pleaded the young spirit.

            “I will not bind him,” Snipped Solas, “It is against all I believe. To bind him will take away his freedom, but I do have a solution if one is willing to listen, if Cole has calmed down enough to listen.”

            The young spirit managed to calm himself slightly. Cole sat petulantly, arms crossed on the ground with a grimace. Connor took a gentle seat next to the spirit and rested his hand on his shoulder. Cole looked at him with worried eyes, and Connor met them with ease.

            “I don’t want to be lost,” murmured Cole, “I want to be me. Mend the hurts. Drifting, but sound. My own fate, to help. To heal.”

            “I promise,” said Connor, “This will all work out in the end. I won’t let anyone get to you.”             Solas then crouched before the pair and spoke, “There are amulets I have discovered in my readings, that, can act as a focus for spirits. Thusly if we were to obtain one and enchant it for Cole, he would not be able to be bound by another Mage. Cole, do you want to proceed with this?”             “Yes,” said the young spirit in a shakily hopeful voice. Then without a warning he was gone and Solas and Connor were left alone in the courtyard of Skyhold.

…

            _None of this is helping me_. Cullen slammed the cover of a book titled _The romantic customs and practices of the Free Marches: Vol 5._ Turning back to the bookshelf, Cullen dove again into the collections of books pulling them from the shelves and slamming them in frustration. All of the scripts he had read had only specified on how to woo the other or pursue a manner of traditional courtship.

            “If one wished to show the object of their affection, the pursuing lord will bring a dowry, and a gift of fine silk gowns for the maiden to wear…Dammit this is useless,” Cullen mumbled to himself as he tossed another book over his shoulder.

            “Woah there Commander, why so callous with the literature,” chided Dorian with a smirk, “I know I find it a bit dry myself, but that is because, as we all know, I am far better read than what you Fereldans have to offer.” Dorian took up the book that had flown past his face and quickly skimmed the cover and contents. He looked up to find a very anxious and guilty Cullen, with a deepening red face. “Now Commander, this is endearing. You of all men are looking up ways to woo our young inquisitor, I mean I think you have already stated your—”

            “No, it’s not that,” snipped Cullen, “I just…dammit Maker…no I just don’t know what…”

            “Oh,” dawned the suave Tevinter, “you know that you have his intentions, but you wish to know how to bed the boy?”

            Cullen froze, his ears burning a deep scarlet, his hands trembled. Breathing deeply, he tried to calm himself and make his demeanor more akin to one of confidence.

            He failed.

            “You will say nothing of this to anyone Dorian, do you hear me? I know that this may be easy for you, but I just don’t know what…”

            “Commander,” said the mage resting his hand on the blonde’s shoulder, “I know this may come as a shock to you, but it is not as uncommon, or as hard as you think.”

            “What do you mean by that?”

            Dorian seated himself and Cullen across from one another at a small table, and it was in that moment that Bull decided to take a seat next to Dorian.

            “Sorry Commander,” chuckled the Qunari as he placed his hand over Dorian’s, “I have been tailing you for a bit, you have been acting strange since this morning’s drill with the soldiers. I have been tailing you since then, so I am well aware of the situation.”

            Cullen stood exasperated and walked to another alcove in the library, followed in suit by Dorian and Bull. Shelving another selection of books, Cullen collapsed into a chair on the edge of the library, Dorian and Bull taking their seats across from the scarlet commander. The pair leaned forward and both waited in silence for a moment.

            Bull broke the silence. “Alright Commander, you are going to have to kinda spill your intentions if you are going to get anywhere here. Remember we are your friends, and we are Connor’s friends. If anyone here in this ass backwards show can help it is going to be us.”

            Dorian nodded and placed his hand on Cullen’s shoulder, “Now Commander…Cullen, just talk to us.”

            Cullen sighed exasperated, “Alright, I…I…dammit. Okay, I just want to make sure I am doing this right. I don’t really have experience in this field per say, and I want to make sure that Connor feels safe. Dammit, this is awkward.”

            “No not at all,” smiled Dorian, “Cullen this is really sweet of you. Honestly, Connor is a special case. Bull didn’t even need to be told.”

            “That’s right,” Bull added, “I recognized the submissive and beaten behavior. Ben-Hasrath remember? Normally I am one for a direct and more dominant approach.” Dorian blushed slightly, and Cullen rolled his eyes. “But, in your case you’re gonna need to test the waters here. Has Connor brought it up at all?”

            Cullen leaned on a small table and put his head in his hands with a deep sigh, “We agreed not to press the issue but he is sending mixed signals. About a month back we were…well, kissing and he was in my lap.” Dorian raised an eyebrow and Bull smirked. “It was fine until both of us got into it. He felt me…become excited and then the mood was killed. He was scared and back at Ostewick again. I want to take things slow, but recently things have been difficult. The kisses deeper and more demanding, but the same fear. The other day I accidently walked in on him…well…in a _private matter_. Maker I just don’t want to hurt him.”

            Bull and Dorian exchanged glances and then turned towards Cullen. Bull spoke first, “Obviously, he is feeling comfortable enough to feel sexual and that is good. He is feeling safe and now it is up to you to truly help shape his shitty perspective on sex.”

            “Cullen,” added Dorian, “you just need to be calm and feel it out. Connor loves you and he will relax, but only if you take him and lead him. Understand?”

            Cullen nodded, “Okay I think I get it, but what about actually…you know…sex.”

            Bull snorted and Dorian punched him lightly in the arm giving Cullen a sympathetic look, “Cullen, so are you familiar with jousting?”

            The Commander gave Dorian a quizzical expression as the Tevinter and the Qunari went into graphic detail on what to do and how to do it. All the while the Commander grew even more flushed.

…

            Connor exhaled sharply as he countered a blow from both Vivienne and Solas. The two mages were helping the young Archon train today, as well as giving him his final exams on his application of ancient magical theory in combat. The trio squared off each shifting in step with the other. Vivienne flurried her ornate staff, the body made of silver and adorned with an obsidian skull wrapped in vines of ivory. Solas twitched his staff in hand. His was a simple Dalish oaken staff, but the top was adorned with an effigy of a golden sprite.

            Both of his teachers had the advantage Connor was equipped with an apprentice’s staff, just a simple rod of treated maple and rune carvings. His old staff destroyed about a month prior in his excursion in the Fade.

            The two elder mages moved on the assault each casting spells wildly to test Connors speed. Connor blocking or reversing each in turn to fit his need. The spar continued for the better hour and a half before finally Connor slipped up and was frozen against a small tree.

            “Well darling,” laughed Vivienne, “I say you passed. Normal mages couldn’t keep up like that for an hour, even myself lasted only thirty-two minutes during my final examination.” Vivienne thawed the ice binding Connor and hugged him lightly. I am proud you are my student, and even more proud to say that there is nothing more that, I can teach you. Well, in the lines of magical combat, we will touch on your literature and courtly manners another day.”

            “My feelings mirror that of our enchantress Connor,” added Solas, “your abilities in combat shadow that of even then most devote Mage, and you also have a grand understanding of the ancient Elven culture and language.”

            Connor smiled and placed his staff on the training rack as the novice Mages cheered for him. Facing his teachers, he bowed and hugged them both. “Thank you both for everything you’ve taught me. I am happy that I can call you both mentors and friends.”

            Solas’ expression softened and he bowed back, “Until we train again _esa'ma'lin,_ you are truly being a _falon va Elvhen_. I am proud _irmorisenatha._ ”

            “Thank you Solas, _ma falon,_ I am glad to make you proud _Fenlin_ ,” Connor smiled, “Now if I may I am going to spend the remainder of my evening washing up and relaxing before whatever the next crisis comes crashing in.”

            Vivienne and Solas nodded and the trio separated.

            “Connor if I may have a quick moment,” called Vivienne as she walked to meet him on the stairs of the castle, “I would just like to thank you for all that you have done to help me with Bastien.”

            Connor smiled sadly, “I will always be here for you if you need me Viv. I am just sorry we couldn’t save him. If you ever need to talk I am here.”

            “Though I appreciate your sentiments darling I must decline, I must manage my own grief and affairs. Though, your earnest assistance has been noticed and I do appreciate that you care; not many would slay a Snow Wyvern just on a simple request, thank you. Now I must be off; I have funerary rights to plan and an Orlesian red to drink. I bid you _Adieu_ Connor. Now run along to your Templar, I feel that he misses you.”

            Connor shared one last sad smile with Vivienne and then moved to head towards the bathing springs. He needed a nice soak to ease his muscles and cleanse his body of all the grime from the training.

            Connor cut across the inner gallery of the main hall and descended past the armory. Their blacksmith’s voice cut loud over the ringing of steel. He was busy with many requisitions that were being commissioned for different garrisons. Another voice called out to the smith; full of intrigue and questions. Josephine had appointed an Arcanist by the name of Dagna. She worked on the magical constructs for the inquisition. Even though she was a Dwarf, she had a grasp of magical theory that paled Connor’s in comparison.

            Connor liked her, even though she sometimes was a bit too intrigued and lost him in the string of complex theorems they discussed, she was always willing to help, and had a natural bright disposition to Mages.

            Descending further into the bowels of the keep, Connor began to feel the air become thick and humid. Finally rounding a corner, he reached Skyhold’s springs. The fortress had a natural reservoir of heated and icy spring water flowing under the mountain tops. Dwarven smiths, that allied with the Inquisition, created a grand bath hall under the fortress in order to garner favor to Orzammar.

            Connor entered the cool granite room. The entire pool sparkled like sapphires in the hazy light of veil fire torches. Water flowed up into the pools in steaming jets and streams, and the run-off spilled over the edge to drain down into the mountains core. The room was hazy with a thick steam and scented with different oils; lavender, jasper, and even sandalwood tinged the air.

            Shedding his training gear Connor grabbed a vial of burnt brown sugar oil, and a descended into the steaming water. He waded deep into the bath letting the water swallow away any aches and pains in his body. He felt as the burning heat sapped any sores from his shoulders. Connor endured the burning heat of the fresh jet of spring water, he liked the gentle sting it provided, the way his skin flushed a light pink against its normal pallor.

            Connor let his mind drift as he lazily rubbed the oils and grime from his skin. He drifted to thoughts of rivers and castles far away, places beyond the Amaranthine Sea. He dreamed that he had wings of a dragon and flew away from here, flew away from the breach, flew away from the war. Connor thought back to his brothers, the letters he sent had reached them and he had received replies from all three of them, Eric and his wife Elizabeth were arriving in a fortnight with his nieces Daniella and Sarah, and the twins Michael and Max were arriving then as well. His father and mother had still not replied to any of his letters, but Connor still held hope.

            Connor knew that no matter how far he was pushed from the family he was still a descendent from nobility, and he was for all purposes still able to claim his family’s title. He was a Trevelyan now until the day he died, he was heir to the home and lands, heir to his bloodlines’ claim in the Free Marches.

            Connor sighed in frustration and sunk under the water, letting the molten silver strands of his hair flow around his head in a silken laurel. Splashing and commotion disturbed his tranquil state and drew him to the surface. A small group of scouts and soldiers had come down to bathe. Connor pulled himself into a corner of the large springs and shrouded himself in a thick cloud of steam.

            “Okay that’s bullshit Jim,” called a spritely male voice, “no way. Commander Cullen would not be interested in sharing his sexual conquests with the Tevinter and the Qunari.”

            “Well he would,” retorted a voice that must have been Jim, “I saw the Commander talking about doing the do with the pair of them in the library. Commander Cullen was all red faced and flushed and the Bull fellow mentioned taking the ‘dominant approach’ and taking him.”

            The voices of the men settled to hushed whispers mentions of “dominance”, “rough”, and “savagery” caught Connor’s ears as he curled into a ball in the corner of the spring.

            “I am telling you, Commander Cullen is going to take our Inquisitor and make him scream,” shouted Jim.

            Connor couldn’t take anymore and used his fade cloak. He was out of the spring and in his room before the ripples in the water could settle.

…

            Dear Mia, Rosalie, and Branson,

            I do not know how it happened, but I think I may have found someone, well not just someone, but I think I may have found ‘the’ one, or whatever Rosalie calls it now. She was always the hopeless romantic of us. His name is Connor, Connor Trevelyan. Yes, He, and yes Trevelyan. I don’t know, it is just every time I see him I know that I must be at his side. It all just feels right. Maker I must sound like a lovelorn servant girl, but I just know that Connor is the one I see myself with for now until whenever the Maker decides to take back this plain. Anyways I thought I might send you this to lessen the barrage of questions I will, undoubtedly, receive. Wishing you all well,

Your brother Cullen Rutherford.

            P.S. Eat your heart out Mia, not only did I find love before you, but he is handsome and can fight.

            Cullen sealed the letter and latched it to a raven before sending it out to meet an outpost camp on its way to Skyhold. Cullen sat down as Dorian and Bull entered his room followed by Solas.

            “To what do I owe this entourage entering all at once,” as Cullen as he filed away his last garrison report.

            Dorian took a sweeping bow and procured a roll of parchment from his robes, “Sorry to burden you again, but I am here to inform you that Connor has assisted me in a rather personal matter regarding Tevinter, and through that he may or may not have made some allies.”

            “Also,” added Bull, “regarding the possible alliance with the Qunari. Yeah that went to shit, and I am Tal-Vashoth, Tal-Va-FUCKING-Shoth! They had sent a small hit on me as a formality, so I suggest checking the guard and servant rotations, but that alliance is now a smeared pile of nug shit.”

            Dorian put his arm on Bull’s shoulder and tried his best to comfort him. “Amatus, you could be Tal-Vashoth, or you could be a warlord. Your status makes no difference to anyone here, and I am happy, because you now have the ability to choose whatever fate you decide with myself and your ‘Chargers’ at your side.”

            Bull smiled and kissed Dorian, “Kadan, you are right. Fuck the Ben-Hasrath, I’ve got my men, and my man. I am un-fucking stoppable.

            Solas then took this moment to step forward, and present a report to Cullen, “Commander Cullen, I have to report that Conner assisted myself in regards to a spirit friend of mine in the fade. Mages had summoned and corrupted…had killed my friend. There were three casualties of the apostates who summoned the…Demon. The matter is now closed.” Solas sighed deeply and centered himself. “My apologies for the break in my composure, I would also like to address that Cole is now human. Connor found a way for Cole to either revert to his completely spiritual state, or solidify his presence here. The latter was the outcome.”

            The group stood stunned at this gain of information, Dorian’s jaw hanging loose, and Cullen and Bull sharing the same baffled expression.

            Solas sighed once more, “Please don’t ask me to explain it, I truly just do not know how to justify this occurrence. Also, Connor asked me to report into you. He is currently out with Sera and Varric on an excursion for the Red Jennies, and a possible lead on red lyrium with another Dwarf by the name of Bianca he won’t be back for some time.”

            “Thank you all for the reports, I will write them up and then submit them to Leliana. Until then, I will check the Guard and servant rotations like you said Bull. In the meantime, I would ask that you keep working towards our goal of uncovering Corypheus’ base, and his plans in the wastes. If we can find out how they are controlling the red lyrium, then maybe we can halt Samson’s lyrium infused armor,” said Cullen as a small pounding in his temple forced him to cringe.

            “In regards to lyrium,” said Dorian, “Cassandra has informed the majority of the inner circle, are you doing okay, and have you told Connor yet?” The Tevinter stepped up and rested his hand on Cullen’s shoulder, willing soothing magic to ease the pain. “You need to take care of yourself Commander.”

            Cullen sighed deeply and rested his face in his palms, “Thank you for your concern, honestly. I just need…need a small rest. I am doing alright; some days are worse than others. As for Connor, I haven’t seen him in two weeks so I haven’t had the time to tell him. I can’t say this over letter, this must be said in person.”

…

            The sun had begun its descent, filling the sky with the colours of autumn. Connor and the rest of his party were resting in the hazy light. Sera was fuming; the contract that she had received on behalf of the Red Jennies, was a trap. They had been ambushed and forced to fight, in Sera’s words, “ _Mother pusbucket frigging bastard shitebags pissface! Eat it, you lop-eared, son of an arse-nut rot-suck piece of shit!_ ” The group was on their way to an abandoned Thaig location mentioned my Varric’s contact Bianca.

            Connor had questioned Varric in regards to the similarity between the Dwarven girl’s name, and the name of his beloved crossbow. This series of questioning only lead to Varric giving Connor backwards answers and half-truths. Thus, leading them to no solid answer and Varric ending it with the same worn reply, “Sorry Doey, I don’t care how many times you give me them big Mabari pup eyes, that is one story I am never gonna tell.”

            Connor sighed as they all settled in for the evening. Sera moved off to her own tent, and Bianca and Varric sat by the fire laughing and exchanging stories. Connor shuffled sleepily too his own tent, his arms wrapped tight in his cloak trying to stay warm.

            Opening the tent flap Connor threw himself unceremoniously onto a pile of lush pillows and furs. Lazily he threw off his gauntlets, boots, and plate until he was clad in nothing but linen trousers and tunic. Settling, he was ready to shift for sleep when a Raven flew into his tent. The bird promptly dropped a letter and then flew away. The letter was adorned with a red wax Mabari paw.

            _Cullen._

            Dear Connor,

            I hope you are doing okay, I miss you that you have been gone for so long. I did not get a chance to welcome you or see you off from your last excursion. Please be safe, I worry that you work yourself too hard, yes, I know, I am saying that you are working too hard. Just please write me, I worry for you. Anyways, I hope to see you soon, and maybe I could see you alone, I would like to speak to you on a ‘private’ matter. Love you always,

            Your Lion, Cullen.

            Connor sank into his pillows with an anxious sigh. He tossed ideas and worries in his head before scrambling to grab his own quill and ink.

          Dear Cullen,

          I am well, and please don’t worry, everything is fine. Sera is just pissed because the Red Jenny meeting was an ambush by some prick nobleman, who, not only wanted me to kill Sera, but also wanted to seduce me. What a complete and utter ass-hat. Anyways, I would like to speak to you as well, there is…well there are a few things…dammit, just meet me in my chambers when we return. It is of the most importance.

          Love always, Your Dragon,

          Connor.

            Connor whistled sharply. The air shimmered and then a snowy raven appeared before him. Its glistening crimson eyes stared back at him, awaiting command. Connor faltered slightly and then passed the letter to the bird who took it in its beak.

            “Fly to Skyhold, make haste Frost. I need Cullen to receive this message as quick as you can get it to him.”

            The bird cawed and fluttered its long snowy wings, translucent feather tips caught the firelight giving the bird an aura of prismatic color. Frost shifted and then took flight with a small flourish. The bird speeding off into the morning sun.

            _Damn, I was supposed to sleep._

…

            The sun was setting and Connor was pacing anxiously around his room. He read through three Tevinter spell books dating before the first age, filed through this weeks and next weeks reports and missions, and he also had cleaned his own fireplace, by hand. He was a nervous wreck. He continued to pace until he heard the door creak and someone came up the stairs.

            “Cul— oh hi Dorian.”

            “Don’t act so disappointed, I was just on my way up to collect those tomes you snagged,” said the Tevinter with a mild scowl, “Next time ask, I am more than happy that you are willing to learn, and secondly, Cullen is on his way up.”

            Connor’s heart jumped, Dorian was here and Cullen was coming. _Was he bringing Bull._ Cold sweat formed on the back of the young Archon.

            “Out,” yelled Connor, “Kindly, get OUT!”

            Dorian threw his hands in the air flippantly, “ _Vishante kaffas! Festis bei umo canavarum_!” Snapping his fingers the ancient manuscripts flew from Connor’s desk, narrowly missing the Sorcerer’s head, and into Dorian’s arms, as he stormed out of the room.

            “Shit on your own tongue Dorian, and I WILL NOT BE THE DEATH OF YOU. Andraste’s fucking tits!”

            Cullen walked passed a fuming Dorian, and hurriedly shut the door as he went to check on a now thoroughly pissed Connor. The blond man spirited up the stairs and walked towards Connor. The young mage caught sight of him and began to hurry towards him. Cullen was expecting him to hug him and vent about what had happened.

            That did not happen.

            A loud crack echoed across the room as Connor slapped Cullen square across the face, leaving him to nurse a sting red cheek, and baffled. Connors eyes were welling with tears and spilling over with rage.

            “HOW FUCKING DARE YOU. I THOUGHT I COULD TRUST YOU, BUT NO. NO, I HEAR FROM YOUR FUCKING SCOUT JIM THAT YOU WERE PLANNING TO BED ME WITH DORIAN AND BULL.” Connor’s voice broke and he looked at Cullen with broken sad eyes. “I…thought I could trust you?”

            Cullen stood abashed, and then cleared his head, “Connor, you can trust me.” Connor turned from him and Cullen reached out and gently raised his jaw back, so their eyes met. “Connor, firstly I would never, ever do anything like that to hurt you. Second, Jim was only kind of right.”

            Connor’s eyes filled with fear, and he shuddered.

            “No, no, no, shush it is okay,” Cullen sat them both on the bed, stroking circles on Connor’s back with one hand, “to be honest, I was talking to Dorian and Bull about sex. Yes, I had no idea what I was doing, and I didn’t want to hurt you. I have…Andraste’s knickers…I have been getting mixed signals from you, and I wanted to make sure that you were comfortable with the idea, and that I knew what I was doing.”

            “Cul, I had no…I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

            “Connor, it is fine. You’re just not comfortable wi—”

            Connor made the first move. He pressed his lips against Cullen’s and kissed him deep. He let himself take in deep lungfuls of clove and cinnamon scent. His hands clinging to the front of Cullen’s plate.

            Cullen broke the kiss, and pulled back, “Connor, what are you—”

            “Cullen, please. You’re right, I have been sending mixed signals, please…just please.”

            Cullen took Connor and leaned him back on the bed. His lips claiming the younger man’s as he undid the strips of his armor. The lion mane fell, and plate and gloves soon followed; leaving Cullen in tunic and trousers next to a similarly dressed Connor.

            The pair kissed again and again, mouths hot and searching. Connor felt his pulse rise as Cullen’s hands worked his body. Pressing and pulling, touching and gently caressing. His own hands doing the same; cupping Cullen’s face and then moving to feel his firm abs.

            Cullen grabbed Connor’s hands forcefully, shocking the young Mage. Their eyes met, Connor’s mildly fearful and Cullen’s strong and resolute. Cullen stopped the advances and spoke plainly, his voice tinged with concern, “Connor listen to me, I only want to do this if you are okay with this. If you say stop no matter what we are doing, no matter how far we have gone we will stop, okay? I promise that I will show you that this can be good. I promise you.”

            Connor stared at Cullen for a moment and then spoke, his voice faint and whimpering, “Okay, Cullen I trust you.”

            Cullen nodded and then leaned into Connor, his body resting firmly against the silver-haired boy. His mouth found Connor’s pulse point and he sucked on it, eliciting a sharp gasp and cry from Connor. Cullen would have stopped, but Connor’s arms clinging to his back eased any of his worry.

            The older man kissed and sucked on Connor’s neck leaving dark bruises along his collar; his hands roaming and undoing the snap on the Mage’s velvet doublet. Cullen slid off Connor’s doublet leaving him bare-chested clad only in his trousers.

            Cullen sucked in a sharp breath of the sight before him. A small figure with paled olive skin flushed with patches of deep rouge. One hand glowing with a faint green hue, his other hand covered in silvery vine like scars similar to Elven Vallaslin. His chest rising and falling rapidly, riddled with faint scars from his years at Ostewick. His eyes wide, but filled with concern and desire. Both spheres bright and shimmering in the muted light of candles and a fire.

            Cullen shifted and straddled Connor’s waist, he could feel the rising arousal beneath him. The commander smirked and began to slowly take undo the threading of his tunic. He took a small pause and slowly reached for Connor’s hands; taking them he gently led them under his tunic and pressed them against his hot skin. “This okay?”

            Connor opened his mouth to speak but the words stuck in his throat. _Be strong you can do this. This is Cullen, this is your Lion, he loves you and you love him. He will never hurt you._ Connor’s hear raced as he slowly traced his hands along Cullen’s burning chest. His body shuddered with memories of his past. He forced them away as he looked into Cullen’s eyes. Molten pools of amber glimmered in the hazy light. Connor nodded slowly and pulled off Cullen’s shirt. The young archon felt his eyes widen at the sight. This is the first time he really got to look at Cullen.

            Cullen was all muscle, his armour wouldn’t show it but underneath the plate and the mane, he was solid. Abs and chest taught and firm, arms and shoulders broad. His chest lightly dusted with dark golden hair. The hair pooling at his navel traveling downward into the v-shaped dip of his hips. His figure was large and imposing, looming over the young mage. Connor felt himself shrinking away.

            Both men found their breathing hot, each stuttering gasp of air heavy with desire, anxiety, fear, and lust. Cullen leaned forward and kissed Connor slowly. Light dancing of lips and flicks of the tongue at first and then shifting into more passion. Their teeth clicked and Cullen’s mouth won in dominance. Unknowingly Cullen pinned Connor’s hands above his head, holding them taught. His mouth wanting and hungry, biting and nipping on Connor’s neck and Collar. This elicited sharp moans and gasp.

            Connor hips moved of their own accord, seeking much need friction against the straining silk and cotton. Connor’s breath hitched when Cullen shifted against him sharply, he pushed his legs apart with his own and ground against Connor’s firm ass.

            That was it. Too much.

            “STOP, CULLEN STOP,” shrieked the mage struggling against his grip. Fear ran rampant and tears began to flow against his cheeks in heavy rivulets. His voice frail and the candles flared brightly.

            Cullen immediately loosened his grip and then pulled away. He looked at Connor for a moment before slowly pulling the sobbing mage close. He hugged the young boy and gently tousled his silver hair. Cooing slightly, and trying his best to calm the crying mage from his panic. His arms providing support.

            _Why, why, why, why? I want to love him, he loves me, dammit it want to be with him. I am so broken why am I so broken. I just want to feel him, to have him hold me._ Connor shuddered and gasped into Cullen chest, his sobbing slowly fading away. “Cul…I am…I am so sorry, I am try—”

            “Shhh, it is okay Connor, you are doing just fine. This can be a lot for anyone, Hell this is a lot for me right now too. I am Sorry I got too into it. That was all me Connor, don’t worry about a thing.”

            The pair sat and stayed calm, until finally Connor pulled back from Cullen slightly.

            “Connor are you—”

            The young archon kissed him again this time pushing him down on the bed. _Cullen loves me. He loves me, and I love him. I can do this, dammit I want this!_

            “Connor!” gasped Cullen abashed, “what are you…if this is too much we don’t need to go there.”

            Connor glared down at Cullen with fierce eyes, then they softened, “Cullen…please…I want to be with you, I…I want to feel loved. Just help me, show me…”

            Cullen nodded and both of the men steeled their resolve. Connor kissed the man firmly and Cullen took firm hold of Connor’s slim waist. The blond man ground their hips together, both men moaning loudly at the new pressure.

            Flashed of Templars, their hands, their naked bodies began to cloud Connor’s mind. He shut his eyes and whimpered. _I am theirs no longer._ “Cul,” gasped Connor and the former Templar froze, “I love you.” The young mage mewled and then gently undid the cording on the front of his trousers. He slipped the knotting, and the gently slipped the firm cotton from his body. Cullen did the same; both men sat laying in their smalls, the fabric straining against their erections.

            Connor shifted himself to straddle Cullen. Slowly he reached down and pulled off the two last remaining pieces of fabric. Finally, they could see all of one another, and both were left speechless.

            Cullen looked up at Connor, all nerves and tense muscle. His frame shaking slightly from his nerves. His stomach dusted with a light trail of silver hair, collecting at his naval and leading down to a small patch above his cock. Connor’s cock was stiff and aching, leaking pre all over his stomach and Cullen’s. The young archon took in the sight of Cullen; his cock was large and head pink. It curved upward into his stomach, and had a firm patch of hair at the base, the same molten gold as the trail from his stomach.

            Cullen lifted the young boy slightly so that he kneeled. The blond man leaned into a sitting position and kissed his neck, sucking on the tender skin, leaving even more bruises. Connor shifted his hand and moved it towards his butt. Murmuring slightly a thin film of grease began to form in Connor’s hand. He worked the grease into himself and then quickly moved his hand to Cullen’s cock. This made the older man growl deeply, and bite into Connor’s neck. Connor cried out and then shifted his weight until he was aligned with Cullen’s cock.

            “C-Cul…I-I am ready. P-please…”

            “Okay Connor,” the former Templar rasped, “I promise you I will go slow and make sure you feel good.”

            Cullen shifted his weight, and tightened his grasp on Connor’s weight. Connor’s body flushed a deep red, and then there was pain. Slight pain. A slow burn. Connor yelled out incoherently as Cullen groaned loudly. Connor’s knees buckled and he plunged down fully on Cullen’s dick. His own spurting a stream of pre over Cullen. Connor raked his nails down over Cullen’s back leaving deep red veins. The anchor sputtering tingling green sparks against exposed flesh.

            “Cullen…Maker’s…holy fuck,” yelled the young archon.

            Connor tightened around Cullen and the older man shuddered, growling, “I want to feel my name burning on your lips for days. Connor…Andraste’s tits.”

            The blond could hold back no more and began to thrust into the silver-haired man. Connors eyes screwed shut as all manner of profanity spilled from his lips, “Oh fuck, Andraste’s flaming fucking tits…Maker…right there yes, right fucking there.” Connor felt as the full length of Cullen buried into him, hitting a spot in him he never knew. White light flooded him and he screamed out loudly, his fingers digging into Cullen.

            All thoughts of Ostewick had left him. Any thought besides he and Cullen outside that bed was lost in a sea of passionate thought.

            Cullen watched as Connor worked his thighs, the muscles taught and pulsing. His cock emerging and disappearing into the young mage. He felt as the fire began to pool, and Connor’s moaning started to become too much. He snapped and bucked his hip to a quicker pace, hitting Connor’s prostate. The boy became undone.

            Lightning and thunder ripped across all the mountains around Skyhold, the candles flared and the fireplace burst. Connor felt as if molten fire pulsed through his veins. He spilled ropes of cum up his chest and Cullen’s. His orgasm ripped through him in electric shockwaves. Cullen’s name a sharp cry on his lips. Control of his magic completely abandoned.

            A few sharp thrusts and Cullen found himself unable to hold back any longer. Electricity had coursed into him, Connor crushing down on him, unbearably tight. Cullen felt as the fire exploded and spilled forth, pumping wave after wave of hot seed into Connor. His body jerked harshly, and he bit into Connor’s neck leaving a deep purple ring.

            The two men collapsed and faded into darkness for a moment.

            Static.

            Complete silence.

            Then the steady crackle of fire. Connor slowly became aware that there was sound and movement around him. He felt the touch of a cool cloth against his chest and ass. Then the warmth of strong arms wrapping around him. His vision cleared and he saw that he was in his dimly lit room, and in his bed. Loving amber pools staring down at him; the edges tinted slightly with concern.

            “You…o-okay?” muttered Connor raggedly, his breath still catching in the cool night air.

            Cullen gave him a baffled expression and then sank beneath the blankets cuddling the young archon laughing slightly. “You, you really asked if I was okay? I was going to ask you.”

            Connor sighed deeply and cuddled himself against Cullen’s warm chest. Their bodies a naked entanglement of limbs. Both of them still dizzy with the afterthought of their orgasms. The room smelled of the heady scent of clove, brown sugar, and the musk of sex. The air was cool against their sweat slicked skin, and Connor found himself deepening his embrace to Cullen. His worries nothing more than faded shadows.

            “Cullen, I love you. You are my Lion and you were gentle and caring. You…you…” the young archon began to tear up.

            Cullen smiled and kissed him pulling him close, “Shhh, I love you too Connor, you are my fierce and powerful Dragon. You were so strong, and I am happy that I could make this pleasurable for you. Now let us rest.”

            “I love you Cul.”

            “I love you too Connor, more than the world itself.”

            Thoughts faded, and the world began to be consumed by shadow. The wisps of the candles extinguished by a lazy flick of Connor’s wrist, the fireplace following in suit. The pale light of a full moon shone in through the opened balcony doors, illuminating the room in pale blue light. Haze of the smoke swirled in the cool night air, and time seemed to slow. Breaths in sync.

            Resonance.

            The blissful shroud of sleep took them both.


	15. Blood and Wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after revelations and our duo are finally at peace. Now the following day will be filled with familial blood and wine. New faces come and show their hearts to the Inqisition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, I am so sorry this update took so long. This chapter had been a revelation of a experience that I have recently had in my life. I wish everyone safety and well, and yes I am okay. Thanks for putting up with me and I hope you enjoy this chapter. I will try to keep this steady but you know life, college, and time.

Blood and Wine

            The morning sun crept over the mountains, cool wind stirring the air, rustling the shades and curtains. The shadows of night faded in the resplendent shades of dawn; purples, golds, and oranges vibrant and pure.

            Connor awoke first to Cullen stirring in his sleep; his face tense and troubled. His figure was submissive and riddled with tension.

            “No…n-no…leave them…Maker please…I…Leave me!”

            Cullen shot up in cold sweat gasping and feral. A touch on his shoulder drew his attention and he turned; anger and fear boiling on his face. His eyes racing until they saw pools of deep amethyst. His anger stilled and he sank back into the mattress, pressing his palms into his eyes.

            “Connor,” Cullen sighed, his voice no more than a whisper, “I am sorry. I should have told you earlier I am not taking Lyri—”

            The young Archon placed his finger to Cullen’s lips to silence him, his voice and eyes soft, “I know Cul, you are not the first Templar I have seen go through withdrawal. Here, please just let me help.”

            Connor shifted his naked frame until Cullen’s head was laying in his lap. The Mage smiled lightly and then cupped his mouth. Connor whispered softly and exhaled, ice and frost began to form in the air around his hands. Cool and peaceful air seemed to shroud them. Then Connor shifted his hands to Cullen’s temples, massaging the skin, ghosting his frozen palms in cool circles over the hot flesh.

            Cullen sighed deeply in relief, “Where did you learn to do that?”

            “As a circle Mage, we learned to care for one another, not all magic is harsh, just like not all Templars at Ostewick were cruel. Now, shush. Relax.” The pair sat in peaceful silence, taking in the morning sun. Connor gently caressing circles into Cullen’s forehead, and Cullen reaching his arms around Connor’s neck pulling him for a kiss.

            “Do you, do you always have nightmares Cul.”

            The blond man met Connor’s eyes, “Not always, but without the lyrium the withdrawals can make it worse. But I can still tell you this, this is still a perfect morning.” Cullen kissed Connor again, and shifted again, pulling the young man into himself. Spooning against him.

            Connor laughed, then moaned as Cullen let his hands roam his chest and pelvis. His mouth leaving another fresh bite and bruise on the back of Connor’s shoulder. Cullen sat up looking down at his lover. His figure, an image of perfection, or it should be. Then the blond chuckled to himself, “Well, meetings today are going to be fun, you have bites and bruises all along your neck, shoulder, and collar.”

            “I am not alone in that regard _Commander_. Your men might not notice it, but Leliana will. I left a few bruises myself, and your back and shoulders are riddled with scratch marks.” The pair laughed to themselves, and the bells tolled the hour of seven. “I feel that we might as well face this with our heads held high. There is no avoiding this at breakfast.”

            Cullen laughed and kissed Connor once more pulling the Mage into his lap. “I love you Connor Trevelyan.”

            “I love you to Cullen Rutherford. Now let us get ready for today.”

            The pair, sluggishly left the bed and moved to a large stone bath on the second floor in Connor’s suite.

            “Enjoy the view,” Connor teased as he nimbly ascended the ladder to the secondary bath landing.

            Cullen smirked, taking in the sight of the smooth taught arse as it disappeared through the opening. “I definitely did.” Cullen scrambled up the ladder, and watched as Connor readied the bath. The both of them sunk into the steaming water, gently scrubbing one another, hands slipping and grasping. Eliciting gasps and moans. Connor sat between Cullen’s legs as the older man took him in hand, his own hands grasping at Cullen’s cock. The pair gently stroked one another until they were moaning raggedly. Connor came first biting back his cry in Cullen’s arm. Cullen followed shortly after, his breath ragged as he released in the hot water.

            “Now this,” smirked Connor, “is something I could get used to.”

            The pair kissed and washed away the newly formed sweat. Oils and soaps of clove, and sugar mixing in the water. Their scents mingling together. Beginnings of heavy froth of soap formed on the surface of the water; Cullen working a heavy lather in Connor’s hair. Connor sat and enjoyed the touch, sinking under the water to cleanse his hair as Cullen started on his own.

Leaving the bath, Connor dressed in a light cotton doublet and trousers, both white and adorned with silver embroidery. Cullen, dressed similarly in a scarlet cotton tunic top, and lapis colored trousers. Both men paying no mind to their exposed skin.

            “Well,” chuckled Cullen, “shall I escort you to breakfast?”

            “Time to face something I fear worse than the ‘Breach’, our friends,” laughed Connor as he took Cullen’s hand. The pair walked down towards the main gallery before the silver haired man stopped just for a moment, “So, despite the bad dreams, this was a _good_ morning.”

            Cullen looked back and place his lips on Connor’s, kissing him deeply, “It’s perfect.”

…

            The pair walked into the tavern for the morning’s breakfast and meeting. The faces of their friends turned and then there was silence. Complete silence. Connor stiffened his posture slightly and walked forward into the pub, his hand held close in Cullen’s own. The pair went up to the server and gathered their morning meal of bread, cheese, and preserves. Connor took the nerve to gather a small flagon of wine for he and his inner circle to share.

            Cullen took his seat and Connor with him when finally, Josephine broke the silence, “Well…um…good morning to you both. You both look…rather…well…you both seem to be in a good mood.”

            “No shit they’re in a good mood,” chortled Bull, “the bruises on Connor’s neck should be enough explanation.”

            Cullen froze and slowly turned to Connor. He saw as Connor’s expression changed slightly and he rolled his eyes. Before Cullen could speak, Connor was kissing him. It was a brief dance of the tongues, but enough to catch everyone at the table eye’s.

            “Well, there,” snipped Connor, “you are all just a bunch of nosy snoops.”

            Sera broke out into a fit of laughter at this and Vivienne rested her face in her palm, failing to suppress a chuckle.

            “Quizzy,” cackled the Elf, “we didn’t have to snoop. Everyone from here to Denerim or Orlais is probably aware that you and Jackboot were _mattress dancing_ all last night.”

            “What,” Connor shrieked as he accidently ripped a loaf of bread in two, his eyes widening in horror.

            Varric chuckled and patted Connor on his shoulder, eliciting a sharp hiss from the slaps on the fresh bites. “Sorry Doey, you two were firstly, very loud, secondly, you are wincing and walking weird, and thirdly, well who wants to take this one?”

            Dorian raised his hand and smiled impishly at Connor, “I will Varric. Well, we all knew when it came to an end. The _big she-bang_ , the _zenith_ , the _final straw_ , because, all of Skyhold’s flames exploded at once and lightning and thunder ripped through a very clear evening sky.”

            Cullen and Connor froze and stared at their friends, mortified. The group was silent again for what felt like ages, then finally Cassandra broke the silence, “Well Varric you are lacking, if that is what our Commander can make happen then you need to ask him for tips in the next chapter of _Swords and Shields_.”

            “So, Seeker,” sneered the Dwarf, “you are a fan of my literature after all, my… _smutty_ …literature.”

            “Do not start with me Dwarf,” bit Cassandra blushing heavily.

            “She’s right Varric,” added Dorian, “I have read the first chapter under her insistence.” Cassandra blushed even deeper and busied herself by cutting her food into even smaller bites. “You need to work on your display, most definitely. If Cullen can make our Inquisitor shake the Heaven in the bedroom, well you need to spice up your stories, otherwise they won’t drag in any readers.”

            Varric gave Cassandra and Dorian a playful glare, “Everyone is a critic, especially you Sparkles. See what you’ve done Curly, you have one good evening and now the bar has been raised for my writing.”

            Cullen blushed slightly and continued to eat his meal.

            Cole then pipped in, “The sky was happy. Everything was happy. _Longing, thrusting, pain but good. The sound of his voice. The way he screamed my name. The way his skin—_ ”

            “Oh, for Maker’s sake, Cole please stop,” said Blackwall, “You have to learn when to read people and when to give them a bit of privacy.”

            “What? Did I do something wrong? Connor was happy, is he not happy? I am confused.”

            “Now kid,” said Bull, “That will be a conversation for when you are older.”

            Connor chuckled and leaned into Cullen, the pair sharing bites of bread and jam. Connor playfully dabbing a bit on Cullen’s nose, and licking it off. Josephine squeaked in excitement along with Leliana.

            “Connor,” added Josephine, “you and our commander are too adorable together. A Commander and a Mage, it is like something from a story. I am positively enthralled by the idea of finally telling some of the Orlesian nobles that you are off the market. They were quite insistent.”

            Leliana laughed heavily, “You should have seen Josie the other day. Someone decided to send her a one hundred letter ensemble, with musicians and a mime; for your hand.”

            “I have never been more motivated to take to the sword. That damn mime kept toying with my pens and notepad. I will have no qualms about rejecting the house of Fleury.”

            The inner circle laughed and continued with small banter until Elara entered the Tavern. She looked mildly worried and rushed over to Connor. “Connor, I said that you would be only a moment, and that you would greet them in the hall, but they came looking for you.”

            Connor gave took the Elven girl’s hand and attempted to calm her. “Alright, who is looking for—”

            “Well if isn’t our little Con-man all grown up. Can you believe it Michael,” shouted out a voice?

            Another voice chimed out a reply, but it was drowned out by the voices of two young girls yelling, “UNCLE CONNOR!” Two girls, one with flowing fiery red hair the other with brunet pigtails, bolted towards Connor. The pair jumped and latched onto his chest hugging him deeply.

            “Danielle, Sarah,” laughed Connor, “It is so nice to see my nieces.” The silverite glanced up to see his brothers standing before the door, each dressed in a traveling cloaks marked with the Trevelyan crest, and their respective home doublet. Connor rose and carried his nieces as he sped towards his family. Hugging them deeply. Michael and Max sharing wide grins as they tousled Connor’s hair. Eric, smiling and laughing as he lifted Connor into a deep hug.

            After the hugging, had finished Connor could finally look at his family. His nieces were young, no more than seven each. Their father smirking, his jaw solid with the beginnings of a full beard meeting his shaggy brown hair.  His hazel eyes full of life. Eric looking more a father than an older brother. His wife, Elizabeth, a vibrant beauty. Her crystalline green eyes in vibrant contrast to her curly crimson hair. Her skin was fair, and she hugged Connor tightly giving him a wide smile. His nieces smiling toothily, Danielle taking after her mother with fire like hair, with Eric’s hazel eyes, and Sarah with Eric’s brown hair and Elizabeth’s emerald eyes.

            Michael and Maxwell had grown too. Both looked dashing and suave. Their faces dusted lightly with the shadow of stubble. Michael dressed handsomely, his demeanor still teasing but more matured. His golden hair long and pulled back into a ponytail. A thin rapier at his side. Maxwell, was more rugged. He dressed in armour, only donning a few thin scars on his right cheek. His blond hair trimmed short and spikey. His demeanor chivalrous and wild. A longsword and shield emblazoned with the crest of Duchard, resting on his back and hip. Their sapphire eyes bright and burning.

            “What on earth did you do to your hair and eyes baby brother,” gasped Michael.

            Connor sputtered, “Oh yeah…that is from me being the Grand Magus, I am a sorcerer not just a mage.”

            “Oh, Eric always said you were such a scholar,” complimented Elizabeth, “the girls are in love with your wild adventures you send in your letters.”

            Connor blushed, then suddenly his brothers stiffened.

            “Umm baby brother,” inquired Maxwell with an impish grin, “What exactly happened to your neck.”

            Connor froze for a second and then walked briskly to Cullen. Pulling the Commander forward he presented him to his family, “Eric, Maxi, Michael, Elizabeth, this is my love, Cullen Rutherford.”

            There was a silence that filled the tavern. Members of the inquisition watched on in silence as the inquisitor stood before his family. The inner circle silent, the Chargers leaning in from around corners, even visitors silent as Connor and Cullen stood anxiously before the arrivals.

            Finally, Elizabeth broke the silence, “Cullen, is it? Call me Liz.” Cullen took Liz’s hand and kissed it gently. “Connor, you have got yourself a nice one, pretty face, a blusher, and he knows how to fight, I can tell from those arms of his.”

            Connor swallowed thickly, “Yes, he is rather charming. He is the commander of the Inquisitions forces.”

            Suddenly there was heavy laughter from Connor’s brothers. Eric speaking first, “Congratulations little brother, I am so happy you found someone. Now Cullen you best treat him well or you will have to contend with us, ya got that.”

            Maxwell leaned in, wrapping his arm around Cullen’s neck laughing, “Yup, nothing against you but I am gonna have to give you crap, you deflowered our little Con-man. So, I am thinking Chevalier versus Commander in the yard after breakfast. They can write a ballad about it ‘The battle for bedding a brother.’ What do you say?”

            Michael slapped Maxwell upside the head playfully and shook hands with Cullen. “A pleasure to meet you Commander Cullen. I take it that you have Connor’s heart?”

            Cullen nodded and Connor kissed him, cheers from the Tavern.

            The brothers jostled and teased the pair as they took their seats at the main table. Introductions were made of the inner circle. Connor presenting his friends before his family. Connor’s nieces took to Varric like bees to honey. His stories about Connor growing even more elaborate to entice the children. Michael and Maxwell struck up conversation with Josephine, Vivienne, Leliana, and Dorian. The table settled and Connor rested against Cullen, their hands entwined.

…

            Hours passed and the entourage talked amicably. The brothers making fast friends amongst the inner circle. Michael talking politics with Josephine and Leliana. The group seemed to settle into a steady pulse of light and idle chatter. The brothers seemed to be fond, and have a fair amount of knowledge about Connor’s companions. To which the young Mage replied that he told his family about them all in depth.

            Things were going rather smoothly until a sharp stern mezzo voice cut through the buzz of a mid-morning tavern like a knife. Silencing all conversation.

            “Oi, Cullen Stanton Rutherford, YOU HAVE SOME NERVE YOU FOOL-HEADED CLOT.”

            Cullen immediately shrank down into the table. “Oh Maker,” he groaned under his breath, “This today, why today, I thought I was a good person.”

            Connor leaned into Cullen, “Cul, are you okay, who is that lady shouting?” Connor looked up from his blond lover and turned to face the amber headed woman. She was dressed in common clothes and a traveling cloak. Her hair tied up in a messy bun, her eyes fiery, but soft. “Who are you that would address—”

            “I am Mia, Mia Rutherford, his sister. The very sister that he has kept in a state of worry and confusion for the past month as I have tried to make my way to this keep.” The woman crossed her arms with a confident smile that was like Cullen’s. All teeth, and full of swagger. Behind her, a smaller petite blond chirped out. She had sapphire eyes and long braided hair, reminiscent of a princess of children’s stories.

            “Mia, calm down, Cul is here right, so everything is fine,” chirped the girl with a sweet voice.

            Cullen raced up from the table and rushed towards his sister. Mia slapped him playfully on the head, and hugged him deeply. Then he turned towards the petite blonde and picked her up in a spinning hug. “Oh, Rosalie, I have miss you. How have you been, Mia is not being a royal bossy prat?” Mia swatted Cullen again, and the trio hugged.

            “NO, Mia is wonderful as always, so be nice Cul, just because you’re the second eldest doesn’t mean you two get to bicker again. So, are you going to introduce us to…OH my Maker,” Rosalie squeaked, as she broke from the hug and flitted towards the table, “you must be Connor.”

            Rosalie curtsied deeply and then proceeded to hug Dorian in a grand fashion. The members of the table sniggered and laughed heavily at Dorian’s fluster of physical contact. The commotion growing even more when Cullen’s face reddened deeply, and Connor just let his face fall flat on the table.

            “Um,” stuttered Dorian, as he peeled himself free from Rosalie’s enthusiastic hug, “I am not Connor, though your brother should take it as a compliment that you thought he was bedding me. The guilty party is the thoroughly _marked_ , and flustered boy who is smacking his head into the table.”

            Connor gave a weak wave without even raising his head, His cheeks reddening, and knowing that he would never be able to look Dorian in the face for the remainder of this meal without feeling that he was going to self-immolate.

            “Oh Maker,” squeaked Rosalie sheepishly, “I am so sorry to confuse you. Cullen said that he found a handsome man. But never a description.”

            Connor looked shocked and Cullen replied, leading Mia to the table with Rosalie, “I never gave you a description, because I wanted to introduce Connor to you all in person. Speaking of that, where is Branson?”

            Mia and Rosalie froze and then a firm hand landed on Cullen’s shoulder, “I’m right here.” A gruff, shaggy haired blond stood behind Cullen then playfully punched him in the arm. “You suck at introductions.” Smirking the blond took his seat next to Cullen. “Well, I am here are we going to chit chat and eat or shall I head back home?”

            Cullen laughed with Rosalie and Mia, and the breakfast turned into lunch, which turned into dinner. The inner circle taking a moment of calm and enjoying the newest additions to the Inquisition.

            Michael, Elizabeth, and Eric would work with Josephine and Vivienne in regards to their connections to Orlesian court and nobility. Maxwell would work with Branson and Cullen to better the forces of the Inquisition, due to his connections to Michael deChevin. Rosalie and Mia would work in Skyhold with the healers and help with the requisitions; both striving to help in any way that they could.

            The night moved on and the mood was jovial. Everything was progressing easily, the members of the inner circle openly accepted the families. A mild celebration began to take place, the Chargers pulled out casks of wine. Eric and his family were given a lower balcony room off the gardens, and Elizabeth took their daughters there as the evening grew onward.

            Connor spent the evening talking with is brothers, informing them of what they had missed in his life since he was left in the circle. Not much had changed, in his family home, his mother had his room sealed and locked. Michael and Maxwell moved out of the house to follow their ties to Orlais, after Eric was married.

            Rosalie and Sera got along swimmingly, Rosalie’s cheery demeanor and Sera’s knack for a good time resulted in the tavern becoming a throng of drunken merriment. Song and dance spilled onto the floor as the bards played. Mia took to speaking with Vivienne, which much to everyone’s surprise, her quick wit and sharp tongue earned much favor. The pair seemed to get along well, and somewhere in the evening Rosalie and Mia were both invited to Vivienne’s winter salon the next week.

            Branson and Cullen exchanged slurred pleasantries late into the evening. The tavern began to empty, drunken patrons spilled forth. Connor moved to help Cullen to his tower, and Branson eased into help as well. The pair lazily exited the tavern, carrying Cullen who was mildly dreary.

            “Do you think you can help me get him to his bed there is a small ladder in his tower?”

            “Sure,” smirked Branson with a small hic, “I can’t believe you did this alone, he is a heavy one.”

            “Well normally we just sleep in my tower after drinking, but my brothers are staying with me until I can assign them permanent quarters.”

            Branson shrugged and moved to help the silverite. Connor’s own head swam with the heady blur of the wine. The pair walked across the chilly stone steps of the ramparts until they reached Cullen’s tower. Connor opened the door and lead Cullen to the ladder as Branson climbed higher. He helped his dreary brother groggily ascend ladder. Branson came down the landing moments later.

            “All tucked in that one, sleeping like a baby.”

            Connor smiled as Branson gestured to the ramparts leading them from Connor’s room. The pair walked in silence Connor letting himself enjoy the new company.

            “So you are the one who took Cullen’s heart?” called Branson, halting Connor. Connor turned smiling lightly at the thought of Cullen and his new family. The night was cloudless with the faintest sliver of vibrant moon,

            “Yeah, I could actually say that he took—”

            Burning pain shook through the night, and Connor could taste the bite of iron. Fiery agony flooded Connor’s head, burning away any haze of liquor. A fist found its place in Connor’s chest, his sternum cracking under the strain. Blow after agonizing blow strike and hit, catching Connor in open flesh. Red begins to flood into Connor’s vision and blood stains the silver and white of his clothes.

            Connor felt bile rise in his throat, and then a searing kick to his stomach made him vomit. Connor collapsed to the ground his head swimming.

            “You limp wristed flit,” shouted Branson as he mercilessly kicked Connors jaw with a sickening snap, “You foul defiling Mage of Sodom. Shit-packing spawn. You will release your hold on my brother.” Branson lashed out lifting Connor and smacking him against the wall. His hands holding tight choking the life out of the young mage.

            “Cullen is strong, he is a man, he isn’t weak or pathetic like you. Release the blood magic you have to ensnare his mind you pillow biting fag.”

            Connor felt his heart beat wildly, straining for life against his now broken ribs. Pain echoed through his body, his hands wildly clawing to pull himself free. His mind a fading pool of raw emotions.

            Branson looked at the boy in his hands, his blue eyes cold and icy, “No more, I will have my brother back.” With a harsh shove, Connor felt air fill his lungs and his body swam weightless. Roaring wind screamed in his ears, straining he pried open his swollen eyes.

            He was falling.

            Branson had thrown him from the battlements.

            Connor hit the ground hard, crashing through the bramble of the trees, an audible snapping sound echoed, there was unbelievable amounts of pain, his body screamed in agony and his vison went. Only his voice rang out. Pitiful in the night before finally darkness swept over his mind.

            It was like bliss.

            ‘This is must be what it is like to die. Finally, the pain will end.’


	16. Judgement and Royal Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pain can make the heart stone, or it can bring it into new life. Connor is recovering from his pain, and choices will be made, secrets revealed, and people once thought lost and hated can show their true character.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone I hope you enjoy this chapter, I tried to spoil you guys by putting a new chapter out as quickly as possible. I know how much we all hate cliffhangers (lol literally though). Anyways, enjoy this whirlwind of a chapter, next on the list is the Winter Palace, and choices here will play a big role in what is to come.  
> Yours truly,  
> Connor.
> 
> PS. Listen to the piano arrangement of Kaguya's Journey from Okami during the goodbyes, it will really set the mood and make you cry.

Judgements and Royal Blood

            Pain.

            Searing unbearable pain filled Connor’s mind as he woke. Blurred figures raced around his vison and muted shouts filled his ears. There was a collection of people, but he could not see their faces. His eyes strained trying to identify the throng of blurry personages.

            Connor tried to speak, but all that escaped his throat was a rasp of a voice. Pitiful and morose. A sensation of cooling vapor seemed to wrap around his body, sinking deeper into his throat and lungs. His vision burning and watery.

            Minutes seem to pass like hours, hours seem to pass like days. Each moment that passed Connor’s consciousness grew.

            “Well Andraste’s ass,” snarked Varric, “I think he is finally waking up. Someone needs to get Chuckles and Curly now.”

            “I’ll get them, Cullen and Solas need to be pulled away from our new prisoner anyways.” Called Josephine with a worried voice.

            “Thanks Ruffles,” called the dwarf, “C’mon Doey, you’ve got us all here. You have to pull through.”

            Connor kept focusing, taking in the cooling sensation of healing magic. His eyes were beginning to focus, and the pain began to mute. There was the sound of racing steps before he heard a clamoring voice.

            “Oh, Maker is he…is he okay, Josephine said that he was waking.” The voice belonged to Cullen, and from what Connor could hear, he was beyond stressed.

            “His heart rate is coming back out of the torpor,” informed Vivienne, “Dorian and I have been casting healing charms since we found him. Two days of unconscious healing. He had several ruptured ligaments, broken bones. His ribs were near all but dust.”

            “I DON’T CARE, IS HE GOING TO BE OKAY!”

            “CULLEN,” shouted Dorian, “He’s finally coming back to us, we have to help him heal, as for him coming back sound, we must wait and see, but your shouting will do nothing to—”

            Connor’s eyes squeezed shut for a minute before slowly opening. The process was draining, but the soft light of morning came through, and illuminated the stained glass. He turned his head slowly taking in the faces around him: Bull, Dorian, Blackwall, Vivienne, Sera, Leliana, Varric, Cole, Solas, Cassandra, Josephine, and Cullen.

            His family.

            Those that had been there for him since the beginning, all of them were there. All of them, gathered to see if he made it, to help him to heal. His extraordinary advisors, and inner circle, his best friends and his lover.

            A small smile crept on his lips, “Well isn’t this a sight.” Connor laughed pitifully as they looked on shocked.

            Cullen was hugging him before the others could breath, his touch tender and gentle, no plate or armour, just his day tunic. He looked tired and relieved, they all did. Connor tried to hug Cullen back but his body screamed in pain, and he just gently nuzzled his neck.

            “Connor I am so sorry, Oh MAKER, please forgive me.”

            “Cullen, it is fine, you have nothing to apologize for, your brother on the other hand, he and I are going to have a nice little chat.”

            Cullen and the others froze, “Connor are you sure that is—”

            Connor nodded, and Cullen called for two of his men to gather Branson and bring him up. The entire party took their seats, and waited. The time seemed to trudge on slowly until there was the sound of chains, and a scuffle. Branson was lead into the room; bound in locks, and enchanted chains. He was brandishing a swollen eye, deep and purple, and his lip was busted.

            “FUCKING BLOOD MAGE,” spat Branson, “YOU’VE POISONED THEM All—”

            “SHUT UP,” roared Connor, and the sky darkened, thunder and lightning slashed through the sky, “I am not in control, your attempt at murder would have proven that.”

            Branson froze, his eyes taking the glowering faces before him. Cullen giving him a look that could have withered a dragon, “Why, Maker why did you do this to him, truly—”

            “Cullen,” rasped Connor, as he struggled to seat himself properly in his bed, “I will handle this.” Connor fought at this, and Cullen and Dorian eased him up, as Solas brought a glass of water. “Branson Rutherford, for the attempt of my murder, assault, and the acts of treason to Ferelden and Orlais I will sentence you…to live.” Mia, Rosalie, and the others stood silent. “I sentence you to live for your crimes, you will be forced to wander without a home and bear a mark of treason. I hope that you one day find happiness, and repentance. Guards, remove him from my sight, and brand him with the sigil of our order on his palms.”

            The circle was silent, Branson sat with a look of horror on his face, sharing a pleading glance to his family. The guards led him silently from the room as the sentence hung in the air.

            Finally, Maxwell spoke, kneeling at his brother’s bedside, “How could you do that, how could you let him live after what he had done to you, what he was okay with doing to anyone, but especially you. Connor—”

            “It’s something Josephine and I discussed heavily once, to be a strong leader doesn’t mean you execute your enemies. Sometimes there are punishments that are worse than death, and that is what I have given him. He will now know the scorn of truly being marked as something disgusting. Mage or Templar, Ferelden or Orlesian, our ally or our enemy will know him as less than what he is now,” deadpanned the young mage, his eyes sad, “I have truly given him a life without meaning.”

            Silence.

            The remainder of the day, members of the Circle worked with Connor to help him recover, and manage the Inquisition. Josephine, Mia, Rosalie, and Vivienne worked on political posts to be sent, Eric, his wife, Maxwell, and Michael all worked to run the training, and regiments of daily life. The remainder of the inner circle, with the exceptions of Leliana and Varric, were at Connor’s side. Varric and the spymaster were working on establishing connections, and Varric was bringing in ‘Some old friends’ who would be of assistance.

            Connor was bedridden, and aching. His heart was heavy from his sentencing, yet Cullen never left his side, he was there holding him, and supporting him. Firmly pining him down as they reset his bones, snapping some into place. Embracing him as Connor cried out from the pain, tears dampening his cheeks.

            It was not until the second evening that Cullen, Rosalie, and Mia spoke to him together. They question their brother’s fate, and Connor’s judgement, but none of them spoke words of abatement, only harsh truths, that if they were in Connor’s shoes Branson would be dead.

            “Connor,” whispered Cullen as he lay in bed next to his lover, the pale light of a dying moon illuminating the room, “If I were to lose you, I don’t think I could have let him live.”

            “Cullen, I don’t want you to—”

            “I mean that Connor, I love you, I do with all of my heart, and the thought of losing you is just…just—”

            Connor silence him with a light kiss, his body groaning at the slight strain. “No more talk of pain, I would kill for you, I would kill until we were the last two people on this earth. I would even challenge the Maker himself.”

            Cullen smirked lightly at this as he raised the coverlets over their bare chests.

            Connor met his eyes, Amber and glowing against his own deep amethysts, “You are my lion, and I am your dragon. That is all that needs to be said, you are my family and I am yours, even our siblings are getting along well. Now please let us rest, we both need some well-deserved rest.”

            Cullen nodded, “Alright, alright, get comfy now, we have work to do in the morning. Also…Connor…I will never let you get hurt like this again, I will defend you until my last.”

            Connor nodded solemnly, and gently rested his head in the crook of Cullen’s arm. Sleep finally claiming them both in a soft embrace. Connor and Cullen, both finally at peace, resting in the other’s arms.

…

            Weeks passed and Connor was now able to walk around Skyhold, his body still sore, but now he could, at most, have a light spar with his brothers, or Cullen. The Inquisition was back into its normal work pattern, spies and agents were sent out to gather information, soldiers were sent out to protect encampments from Venatori forces, and the political drama was coming in full force. Nobles from Orlais, Ferelden, Antiva, and Even the Free Marches were arriving at Skyhold to speak with Inquisitor Trevelyan.

            “Josephine,” called Connor, “who is next?”

            Josephine sighed, “This was a surprise. After your return from the bogs, we discovered this man attacking. The building…With… a goat.” Josephine sighed, and raised her note board, “Chief Movran the Under, He feels slighted by the killing of his Avvar Tribesmen. Who, repeatedly attacked you first. What should we do with him, where should he go?”

            Connor sank deeper into the coiled dragons on his throne, his exhaustion visible. His body still craving rest, though most of the injuries now were slight bruises on his chest.

            “So…you answered the death of your Clan…with a goat?” inquired the young Archon, his fingers steeple.

            Chief Movran stood forward, his giant figure swathed in dyed furs and animal horns, his voice booming as he laughed, “A courtroom? Unnecessary! You killed my idiot son, and I answered, as is my custom, by smacking your holdings with goat’s blood.” The court room erupted in a wave of muffled laughter.

            Connor gave a confused glance to his council, and then to Josephine.

            “Don’t look at me,” shrugged Josephine as she raised her board, and pretended to make note of a decision.

            “No foul,” called Movran, small clinking resonating from his belled beard and manacles, “He meant to murder Tevinters, but got feisty with your Inquisition. A redheaded mother guarantees as brat! Do as you’ve earned, Inquisitor. My clan yields, my remaining boys have brains still in their heads!”

            “Well, it seems our conflict was accidental Chief Movran, but it cannot be repeated,” spoke Connor, trying to comprehend the strange plea, “So…um…I banish you and your clan –with as many weapons as you can carry –to Tevinter.”

            Connor chuckled as Chief Movran smiled and laughed, “My idiot boy got us something after all!”

            The court was cleared, and Chief Movran was released. The Avvar tribesmen were banished, but not really at much detriment. Skyhold’s court was clearing out when Elara hurried in followed by Connor’s family; all of them wearing a worried expression on their faces.

            “Eric what’s the matter, what’s—”

            A heraldry called out, “Presenting Lord Gregor Trevelyan, and Lady Francesca Trevelyan.”

            Connor and the inner circle froze, his family gathered around him protectively as their parents walked to the center of hall. No one spoke and only the sound of Gregor and Francesca’s footsteps could be heard. Connor recognized the stern look of his father at once, his blond hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, a pristine goatee framed the terse edges of his mouth, and he dressed in a black and silver doublet, embroidered with stallions.

            Francesca looked different from what Connor remembered. Her face was hollow and her hazel eyes had lost their sparkle. Heavy lines creased her features, and she dressed simply in a deep jet velvet gown. Her dark brown was braided with silver flowers, streaks of white dappled the elegant braiding, and she held an ornate glossy black cane.

            “Well isn’t this surprise, all of my children back in one place, Eric, Michael, Maxwell. I have to say that I am disappointed that you thought it was wise to gather under the banner of that abomination,” bit Gregor.

            Connor flinched slightly at the caustic remark, and Francesca turned her head away, ignoring the insults. Cullen rose and placed his hand on Connor’s shoulder, trying to calm him.

            “By the Maker, you truly are an abomination, you pull my children into your web, as you flaunt the hypocrisy of the Maker, and bed men. Truly foul.” Connor’s breath hitched, and his knuckles went white. “I would have thought that your mother sending you to the circle would have shaped you into something at least presentable, but you are still nothing but a _disgrace_.”

            “SHUT THE FUCK UP,” Connor roared getting to his feet, his voice ringing though the hall. He was before his father in five strides, angrier than anyone had seen him before.

            The Inquisition had seen him shatter at his past, fight dragons, use his unbridled rage against Knight-Commander Braxton, even tear at the very fabric of the reality in Thedas, but that paled in comparison to his fury now. The air in the hall was still and Connor stood tall against his father.

            “YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO SPEAK HERE.”

            Gregor screamed back, “HOW DARE YOU—”

            “I SAID SILENCE,” and the Archon silenced the hall with a deafening clap of thunder, “you cast me aside, let me rot in Ostewick where I was tortured…abused, raped, and you did nothing.” Francesca flinched at every accusation cast. “I have been through hell and back and you have no authority over me, I have it over you. You have passed your prime Father, and since I am the only living heir to our name I have the right to claim all lands and titles for House Trevelyan.”

            Gregor’s face flushed red, he was fuming with rage, “You loathsome cur.” Gregor raised his hand to strike Connor, and then he froze, ice crystals were forming around him. Connor turned to look at his friends, but not a single Mage had moved to stop him.

            A seething female voice cut through the quiet, “You will not strike my child.” Francesca stepped forward, standing next to her son, her right hand was enveloped in an aura of frozen air. The hall began to chill and ice formed on the chandeliers, Francesca turned her gaze to her son and smiled softly.

            The room stood in silence as Francesca Trevelyan, Connor’s mother, enveloped the room in a wave of frozen air. Frost coated the windows, and the flames on the candles froze. Gentle flurries shifted in the icy air. Francesca Trevelyan was an ice Mage.

            “I am so sorry for what I have done to you, my boy, my precious baby boy,” spoke Francesca, her voice cracking, “I was only trying to protect you. I knew that your father hated magic, but I was trained on how to hide mine, when you showed signs of it, I will never forget that day. I was so proud, my little ‘Draconis’ was a Mage, but then I feared for you. I sent you to Ostewick, but I never knew that it was so awful there.”

            Connor watched as tears streaked down his mother’s face, he could feel as his own cheeks were veined with hot rivulets. Francesca reached out and cupped his cheeks, before gently kissing his forehead.

            “I have miss you, Connor, my little dragon, I have missed you and all of my children.”

            Connor felt as his mother hugged him deeply, he couldn’t remember when, but he was sobbing and was being hugged by his brothers. All of Francesca’s children were finally reunited as a family.

            Francesca pulled away and then turned towards her husband and unfroze him, “Gregor, I did love you once, you were a gallant chevalier, but now your heart is twisted and frozen. I don’t know what happened to you, but you changed, you took my, our children and sent them away.”

            Gregor stood silent, his face hard and unmoving. Francesca reached out to her husband, and Gregor callously swatted her hand away, glaring at her.

            “Don’t touch me,” spat the elder lord, “you are no wife of mine. You have no place in my life, you and your abominable spawn.”

            Francesca pulled away from her husband, her sorrow and pain riddled her face. Connor and his brothers moved to their mother’s side, Liz and her daughters joining them. Cullen took his place at Connor’s side, his right hand resting on Francesca’s shoulder, his left holding Connors. Members of the inner circle gathered until the room stood divided, Gregor against the Inquisition.

            Gregor stared down Connor as he spoke, “Magic is meant to serve mankind, never to rule over him. You should look at what you’ve become.”

            “I never used magic to rule them father,” called Connor, “I have worked with them, they have become my family, all of them. I will show you a lord’s courtesy and see you from my grounds.” Connor walked up to his father and the elder nodded.

            The pair walked in silence, Connor dressed in silver and white doublet, the heart of fire sitting on his chest. His cloak catching the wind. Gregor’s black cloak flitted in the wintry winds of Skyhold, the embroidered stallions almost alive in the winds. Both men walked down the stone stair of the castle until they reached Gregor’s horse near the portcullis gate. The stallion was a deep midnight mare, and its hooves clicked heavily against the stone.

            “I am sorry father,” spoke Connor softly, “I am sorry that I could not live up to your vision of me.” Gregor was silent. “I will not apologize for loving Ser Cullen or being a Mage. I am Grand Magus, and as a Sorcerer I will make things better for us all. Magic is part of me.”

            “Connor…Connor you don’t disappoint me,” spoke Gregor firmly, “I may not agree or support you, but I am your…your father. I—this is not the life I would have chosen for you, but I am not the Maker, I don’t choose the path you live. You make me proud, you have lived your life for you, and not for the ideals of another, you and your brothers all have chosen to live freely.”

            Connor was silent and Gregor turned toward him, taking his son’s hand. He placed something cool and closed Connor’s fist around it.

            “You have grown into a wonderful young man Connor. Connor Michael Trevelyan, my little Draconis, Lord of house Trevelyan,” whispered Gregor before mounting his horse, and riding off without another word.

            Connor stood silently, his face flushed and wet with tears, watching as his father rode away from him, and out of his life. Connor squeezed his hand, and opened it. In his palm sat his father’s signet ring, the mark of the head of House Trevelyan. He was lord now; his father had passed the torch.


	17. Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts: Part one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor and Inquisition recover and build. Relationships grow, friends from the past come to aid. Spilt wine leads to a surprise, and love is declared. As the time moves on, it is time to Save Orlais, but first they have to dress the part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends, and family. I do hope you like this chapter, I really wanted to stress relationships and a sense of recovery and normalcy after all that drama. Furthermore, I wanted to let you know that in the cannon Josie, Leliana, and Cullen (diplomat, spy, and warrior.) side with their respective counterparts for title in the game, this didn't make much sense to me for their mentalities. Anyways, that was a long winded way of saying artistic liberties will happen, and the advisors choice of rulers will change a bit. 
> 
> I do hope that you like this chapter, it is a long one. I am trying to put updates out as fast as I can, but I am working full time, and trying my hardest to ready myself for my junior year of university. Anyways I love you all and hope you are having a great summer. 
> 
> p.s. just out of curiosity and my own lack of time, if anyone wants to do fanart I would love to see it.
> 
> Love you all,  
> Connor.

Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts   
Part One  
“Morning Varric,” called Connor as he gracefully slid down the railing of Skyhold’s stairs.  
“My, my Doey, seems that you are making a great recovery, and you are in a good mood. What did I miss out on?” inquired the dwarf, shutting his business ledger with a smirk.  
The young Archon laughed, taking his place next to Varric’s as they walked towards the training grounds, “I am doing quite well, thank you for your observation. As for what you missed, Sera and I may or may not have gone pranking, and I am totally not fleeing Josephine.”  
Sera quickly ran up and vaulted over Varric, smiling like a mad-woman, “Come on Quizzy or she’s gonna—”  
“YOU,” roared Josephine soaked with water, as Connor and Sera looked playfully mortified.  
“Aw frig,” snorted the Elf, “he did it!” Connor looked at Sera with an incredulous look as she mooned him, and took off running towards the Tavern. “I will see ya later Con-won. We are still on for making cookies, right?”  
“Of course,” shouted Connor as he grabbed onto Varric, “come on we need to run or Josephine is going to skin us alive.”  
Varric relented, and the pair raced away from the dripping Antivan, and towards the battlements. Connor raced quickly up the stairs with frost step, and Varric had to gingerly follow, trying not to slip on ice.   
When Varric made it to the top of the stairs he found Connor laughing heartily with Bull. The Qunari was leaning against the wall red faced, and Connor was cradled against the stone railing.   
“Well Tiny, I figure that our illustrious leader has informed you how we had to high tail it away from Ruffles, she’s like a high dragon when she is pissed,” huffed the Dwarf.  
“Damn right,” chortled Bull, “those Antivans are fearsome. The Antivan Crows are vicious sons of whores—”  
“And what is wrong with being the son of whore. I have to say that I haven’t heard any complaints,” called a suave blond elf walking out from one of the towers.  
“About damn time you got here,” snarked Varric, “Doey I would like you to meet Zevran. He is a former member of the Antivan Crows, and he was sent to us from High King Alistair.”  
“What is this Varric do I, nor the others, not get an introduction,” slurred a surly olive-skinned woman. She was dressed scantily, and her dark luscious hair pulled back with a deep blue bandana.  
“Ah Rivani, like you need an introduction, but Daisy and Red on the other hand,” chuckled Varric, “They might need a little bit more of an introduction. After all, not many have the illustrious title of Pirate Captain Isabella.”  
Connor watched as the Rivani pirate took a grandiose ball, her breasts barley covered by her silk tunic shirt. Connor flushed red and Isabella laughed.  
“Well it’s seems our illustrious Inquisitor is human after all,” said Bull as he slapped Connor on the back.  
Connor flushed a deeper rogue as he met with Varric’s ‘Friends.’ He was finally able to meet the crew from Kirkwall; Isabella, Merrill, and Aveline all reintroduced themselves. Hawke walked up with his brother Carver, and his husband Fenris. Everyone was jovial, and Isabella made it very clear that if Connor ever needed any advice for the bedroom she was more than willing to share. Aveline cut in, saving the young Archon and leading him to Merrill. Merrill and Connor discussed Elven magic as the rest of the people mingled.   
Zevran gave a whistle, calling everyone’s attention, and Cullen, was walking down the battlements with Leliana. Behind them, marched and entourage of familiar faces. The bright toothy grin, of High-King Alistair met them. He was followed by an entourage consisting of a burly red-headed dwarf, a jovial Mabari, a red eyed Qunari with hair pulled tight, and a spritely older Mage with a knowing smirk on her face.  
“Well if it isn’t the little spitfire of a Grand Magus from Redcliffe,” smirked Alistair, shaking Connor’s hand, “I have been looking forward to our next meeting. Might I introduce my companions. You have met, in his words not mine, the most handsome assassin in all of Fereldan, Zevran.”  
Connor rolled his eyes playfully as Zevran took a deep bow, taking Connor’s hand and kissing it seductively. Connor letting out a pulse of frost, teasing the flirtatious cutthroat. “I have met him, he is quite a character, your Grace.”  
“Oh please, don’t refer to him as your grace.” Slurred the Dwarf, “this nug-humper is Alistair, and I am Oghren. Dwarven warrior and berserker.”  
The large Qunari quietly stepped forward, munching on a small cookie, and moved Oghren out of the way. “Kadan, Alistair, I know that Myra would keep him, but this Dwarf is more trouble when he is not inebriated.”  
“WAIT,” choked Bull, “YOU AND THE KING ARE SLEEPING TOGETHER?”  
Everyone stared at the two Qunari speechless.  
“Well you said Kadan, and that means my heart,” lulled Bull mischievously, “So does our King have some secrets?”  
The red-eyed Qunari stepped forward, “I Sten of the Barassad, acknowledge that Alistair, and the former Hero of Fereldan are Kadan, of my heart. They are warriors, honorable, not some simple Tamassaran to take to bed.”  
The elder woman raised her staff, blocking Sten from pushing forward. A smile spreading across her lips, “My, no matter the time passed, there is always such rambunctious youngsters everywhere. I may be no spring chicken, but I think I can keep up with you all, don’t you think Connor?”  
Connor smiled, running up and hugging the mage, “Most definitely, I have missed you Wynne. It has been some time.”  
Alistair stepped forward, “Wait you two know one another?”  
“Yes,” stated Wynne, “before I became Arcane Advisor to the crown, and the Blight, I had freedom to act as an ambassador for gifted Mages in the circles. Connor was one of my top students when he was very young. You had to have been about, what were you six—”  
“I was seven,” chuckled Connor.  
“Ah yes seven years old and already had complete mastery of the basic elementalist magics, you even were working on blizzard by the age of ten,” smiled Wynne, “how was Ostewick, it has been quite some time.”  
Cullen tensed slightly, and Connor sighed, “It became a corrupt institution. Myself and many other Mages were assaulted in a manner of ways by Knight-commander Braxton and his men. But, now Ostewick is with the Inquisition, and all is well.”  
Wynne gave a pained expression, but Connor waved it off. Promising that everything has come its course, and the problems with Ostewick were solved. Cullen and Connor talked with Hawke and Fenris for some time. Leliana was having a light conversation with Wynne, the elder giving her a deep purple scarf with nightingales knitted into the fabric. Everyone mingled for a while, before Josephine rounded the corner, dressed in a new outfit.  
“Sorry for my delay,” apologized the Antivan, “I had a, how should I put this, and declaration of war from a dear friend, and if he knows what is good for him. He should probably get all the info he can from Leliana.”  
Connor smirked playfully and Josephine smile. “Now back to business, I have brought the heroes of the Fifth Blight here, as well as, the Hero of Kirkwall and his compatriots, not only as allies for the Inquisition, but to run in in our stead as we spend our time with Empress Celene at the Winter Palace.”  
“Oh boy,” sighed Alistair, “I go from running a country, to joint running a movement that is trying to repair my country, and our neighbor. No one tells me these things beforehand.”  
“Well this is going to be fun,” cheered Hawke, grasping an arm around Alistair’s shoulder, “you said joint run so you won’t be in this alone.”  
“Maker help us, we are doomed,” groaned Aveline.  
“Now everyone, when have I done anything rash and irresponsible,” inquired Hawke with a genuine smile.  
“I keep a list,” snipped Aveline with a smirk, “it’s alphabetized.”  
…  
“Where are we,” inquired Connor, his eyes covered with a blindfold as Cullen lead him on. Cullen had taken them away from the Inquisition for the evening. Connor could smell the damp air, and hear the shrieking of gulls.  
Cullen removed the blindfold, revealing a small dock. The wharf outlooked a small lake, lotuses and lilies dotted its surface. Connor knew that it was in the outskirts of Crestwood. “You walk into danger every day,” sighed Cullen, “I wanted to take you away from that, if even for a moment. I grew up not far from here this place was always quiet.”  
Connor smile as he sat on the edge of the pier, taking of his shoes and dangling his feet in the cool sapphire water. “Did you come here often? It’s beautiful.”  
“I loved my siblings, but they were very loud,” chuckled the Commander, “I would come here to clear my head, of course, they always found me eventually.”  
“You were happy here?”  
Cullen met Connor’s eyes, “I was, I still am.”  
Connor stared out over the water as Cullen took a seat next to him, “Cullen it truly is beautiful here.”  
“The last time I was here, was the day I left for Templar training. My brother gave me this.” Cullen lifted a small gold coin, the face of Andraste pressed into its surface. “It just happened to be in his pocket, but he said it was for luck. Templars are not supposed to carry such things. Our faith should see us through.”  
Connor smirked, “A little luck can’t hurt, every now and then.”  
“I suppose not. I should have died during the Blight, or at Kirkwall, or Haven, take your pick. And yet, I made it back here.” Cullen looked firmly at Connor, his eyes asking for acceptance, his hand presenting the coin, “Humor me, we don’t know what you’ll face before the end. This can’t hurt.”  
Connor took the coin in his hand, the surface smooth and warm. He put it in his vest pocket, near his heart. “I’ll keep it safe.”  
Cullen stood, taking Connor’s hand, “Good, I know it’s foolish but…I’m glad.” Cullen leaned in his lips gently brushing against Connor’s. His tongue gently dancing with the young archon’s.   
The pier was silent, save only the gulls, and the subtle buzzing of the lake side insects.  
…  
“Rylen’s men will monitor the situation,” ordered Cullen to a room of his troops. The last of his orders before the Inner circle’s venture to the Winter Palace.  
“Yes sir,” replied a young female scout, “we will begin preparations at once.”  
Cullen nodded, “In the meantime, we’ll send soldiers to…” The Commander saw Connor sitting in the back of his room, smirking at him as he gave orders to his men. “assist with the relief efforts. That will be all.”  
“Ser,” replied the men saluting Cullen and turning to leave from his chambers. Cullen followed them to his door, closing it behind them, sighing heavily. He was exhausted.  
“There is always something more, isn’t there?”  
Connor smiled, his eyes soft, “Wishing we were somewhere else?”  
Cullen laughed, turning from the door heading towards his desk, “I barely found time to get away before. This war won’t last forever. When it started, I hadn’t considered much beyond our survival, but things are different now.”  
Connor walked up to meet Cullen, “What do you mean?”  
“I find myself wondering what will happen after. When this is over, I won’t want to move on…not from you,” lulled Cullen, his gloved hand running lovingly across Connor’s healing neck. The deepest of the bites fading.  
Cullen froze for a moment his face flushing before turning away flustered, “But I don’t know what you—that is, if you, ah…”  
“Cullen,” spoke Connor sitting gingerly between Cullen and his desk, “Do you need to ask?”  
“I suppose not,” whispered the elder man. Cullen leaned in and Connor accidently knocked over a bottle of wine. The glass shattering on the floor. The young archon gasped at his mistake, but Cullen looked at him with playful eyes. The Commander glanced at his desk before knocking all the papers, notes, and quills to the floor haphazardly. A seductive smirk played on his lips, the scar lilting in a confident smile.  
Connor could feel as his heart raced, and Cullen own body flushed with the heady rush of passion. Cullen made the first move, leaning in kissing Connor fully, his tongue pushing into the younger man’s mouth. Connor running his hands through the blond man’s curls, his fingers tangling in the thick hair. The young mage felt himself utter a guttural groan when Cullen’s kiss moved downward, pulling open his doublet, and sucking on his collar.  
“Maker’s mercy,” Connor breathed heavily as he squirmed under the weight of Cullen’s armor, the two now on his desk. His hips arching into Cullen’s as he writhed in pleasure, Connor’s hands undoing the latched of the Commander’s armor. Pieces of it falling on either side of the desk, Connor pausing only when Cullen removed his shirt and boots.  
Connor moaned into another kiss as Cullen ground their hips together, their erections rubbing into one another. The room was silent except for their passion; moans, stifled cries, and laughter filled Cullen’s tower. Connor began to undo his trousers when Cullen stopped him with a mischievous smile. “Allow me.”  
The Commander pushed Connor back onto the desk as he leaned down and bit the ties with his teeth. Cullen, like a lion, glanced at Connor before pulling the tie completely loose with his mouth. Effortlessly he pulled Connor’s pants and smalls free, taking a moment to look at the young Mage.  
“Maker’s breath you are so…so handsome,” Cullen ran his eyes over the Archon’s body, it was lean and muscular, his frame a little fuller now with age. His body completely healed from his assault, only his subtle scars from his past remained. “More than that. Alluring. Elegant. Striking. Erotic.” Cullen crept on top of Connor kissing up his naked body, from pelvis to lips. “Words will do you no justice, they are not enough.”  
Connor flushed heavily at Cullen’s brashness, his suave words and demeanor turning him on. This was so different from the timid and awkward Cullen that appears when they flirt amongst their friends. There he is a housecat, but alone with him, he is a fearsome lion. Connor wrapped his arms around the Commander, massaging the toned muscle as they kissed for what felt like hours. Their heads dizzy with intoxication.  
Cullen found that when he was with Connor, like this, kissing him, tasting him, that all his pains faded from his mind. The lyrium withdrawal had no hold on him. Their kissing became more heated as Cullen eased off his trousers and smalls, the fabric catching at his ankles. Cullen kissed down Connor’s stomach, pausing only a moment before taking Connor’s entire length into his mouth. Connor gasped at the sensation, and reveled in the sensation and joy as Cullen began to work him open.  
The young Archon was undone, and was writhing in pleasure. His mouth open, spilling out a stream of profanity and moans that would make even Isabella blush. The Archon flushed, his anchor sparking wildly. Cullen lifted Connor’s legs spreading them gently as he positioned himself between them. Connor resting on the edge of the desk.   
“Are you—”  
Cullen never finished as Connor gave his cock a firm squeeze. That was all the incentive needed. Cullen moved forward, pushing into the silverite, both men moaning at the new sensation. Connor’s hands grasped on the sides of the desk for dear life as Cullen began to thrust into him. Cullen rested his forehead on Connor’s chest as he rutted into the Mage raggedly. Connor groaned and gasped in pleasure, Cullen’s cock hitting the fire inside him.   
“Andraste’s fucking tits, right there Cullen,” shouted Connor, “MAKER’S FLAMING ASS.”  
Cullen smirked at Connor’s profanity, he was always mild mannered until he was angered or being fucked senseless. Cullen was happy to oblige to the latter. Their breathing grew heavier, Connor digging his heels into Cullen’s ass for more force. Cullen gently scraped his teeth over Connor’s nipples as he fucked the Mage harder. The pair settled on a ragged rhythm, both moaning more and more. Connor felt as Cullen thrust in and out of his hole, gasping loudly as he bottomed out completely.  
The pair’s moans grew louder, and then Cullen froze for a moment.  
Cole.  
“It comes off,” gasped the spirit wide-eyed, “I didn’t know it came off.”  
“COLE, GET OUT,” yelled Connor, his face flushing, somehow, a deeper shade of red.  
The spirit jolted at the sudden scream and disappeared quickly. Connor and Cullen looked at one another stunned. Then they erupted into laughter, both men breathless from the shock, and the sex.  
“I think we may have traumatized him,” groaned Connor.  
Cullen smirked for a moment before picking Connor up. The Commander sat on the edge of the desk with Connor riding him on his lap, thrusting into the Mage, “Well he brought that on himself, nosy spirit.”  
Within seconds Connor was moaning again his hands grasping and leaving deep red claw marks on Cullen’s back. Their movements became quicker and more relentless, as they neared release. Connor felt as his mind went blank, white light spreading over his vision. A fire flooded his body as his orgasm ripped through him. The room flooding with a burst of ice. This was too much for Cullen, the heat of their bodies against the cold, as he groaned, releasing into the Connor, the Archon burning hot, but the ice magic freezing and frigid.  
The pair smiled at each other foolishly. Connor straddling Cullen’s lap. Connor stroking lazy circles in Cullen’s spine as their breathing slowed. The young Archon closed his eyes for a second, and when he opened them again, Cullen was sliding into bed next to him. His lion had carried them up the ladder. Cullen held him close, running his hand through Connor’s silvery hair, feeling at peace. Corypheus, the Breech, the Inquisition, all of it gone, none of it mattering in the moment.  
“That was…wow,” smiled Connor.  
Cullen smiled, chuckling in response. A wide smile played across his face.  
…  
The next morning came too suddenly, the bells chimed the hour of six in the morning. There was a loud knocking on the door, accompanied by a stern voice.  
“COMMANDER, INQUISITOR,” shouted Cassandra, “I have been as lax as I can this morning, but Josephine has called us all together to dress and ready to leave for the Winter Palace. So, you either rouse in five minutes, or I am sending Dorian and Bull to wake you.”  
Connor groaned and cuddled against Cullen, “Why, why, I have no desire to leave this bed, to leave your side. Maker Why?”  
“Connor, we could wait for Bull and Dorian, but I am afraid of what they might do,” chuckled Cullen.  
“Something like this,” Connor flourish his wrist and golden snakes began to wrap around Cullen’s wrists binding him to the headboard, “This is a little something I learned from our sassy Mage friend.” The young Mage kissed Cullen lightly before dissolving the magical serpents. He sauntered over to the edge of the room, and dressed simply in a tunic, loose pants, and Cullen’s lion mane coat.  
“See you in the war room” smirked Connor before flashing away in a flurry of ice.   
Cullen sprang from the bed, cursing under his breath, “Connor, Maker’s Breath, why must you do these things to me.” The blond Commander raced down the ladder, and spilled forth across the battlements shoddily dressed in tunic and pants. His boot loosely laced around his ankles.  
Cullen burst through the doors of the war room, and the room froze. Connor stood at the center of the room with his family, and inner circle. Alistair and Hawke’s groups stood intermittently around the table. Everyone turned to meet the flustered commander.   
Connor smirked, and Dorian and Bull gave Cullen a terribly incriminating smile. Maxwell and Michael could barely contain their laughter as the silence stretched on. Eric massaged his temples smirking. Sera stood silent, her wild grin growing with every second.  
Connor croaked, his voice hoarse with nerves, “I-I didn’t k-know that everyone w-would be here this m-morning Cullen.”  
“Morning Commander,” smirked Josephine knowingly, “We were just talking about you.”  
Cullen could feel the blood rush into his face, burning hot, his cheeks becoming a deep red.  
“I told you,” exclaimed Cole pointing at Cullen’s lion mane coat on Connor, “It comes off, it came off. Tender touched, and fiery kisses. Teeth strong sharp, and body firm, taught. My love my Dragon. Love. Fire. Strong and compassion, like the old songs. Fierce and bold. Lion claiming a mate. Hot and cold, fire and ice, white light.”  
“Commander, Inquisitor, how are you two doing right now,” asked Leliana with an Impish grin.  
Cullen croaked out a stuttered gasp, and Connor blanched. The young Archon stuttered, “If a rift opened right now and swallowed me I would be fine with that.”  
…  
As the sun settled to midday, the Inquisition began to ready themselves for the Winter Palace. Josephine, being her tactful self, reminded everyone that their actions at the masquerade would be watched and scrutinized for any signs of weakness, that they must be on their best behavior. Sera scoffed, and was remined again as Josie brought in three familiar faces. Gabriel DuMont, Clarice Diae, and Tatianna DeChanie.  
Connor and Cullen’s stylists.   
“Ohhh Connor love it’s so good to see you again,” smiled Gabriel, “I see you have taken a liking to that brown sugar scrub, its done wonders for your complexion.”  
Connor smiled weakly, and then gave a small panicked glance in a mirror, examining his pores. The young Mage gave a concerned look towards Vivienne who gave an uninterested shrug.  
“My dear you must know, that all that fighting and grime was horrible for your skin, but Monsieur DuMont is right. You have the face of an angel now,” sighed the Enchantress as she gathered several other members of the inner circle to ready with Tatianna and Clarice.  
“Oh, and Commander,” sang Gabriel as he gave Cullen a sweeping glance, “you are as handsome as ever. Both of you are so endearing together.” Connor and Cullen stuttered, but Gabriel silenced them with a wave of his hand, “My dears, I have seen it all before, you two were just a matter of time. My husband, Phillipe, and I were exactly the same, nervous glances, smiles, lingering stares.” The Orlesian chuckled, “You two were completely obvious, and a joy to style.”  
Connor smiled, and gave Gabriel a hug. The stylist taken aback by the sudden breach in decorum, “Thank you Gabriel. I really mean it, you and your friends truly made me feel amazing. I never knew that I could take someone’s breath away until you showed me. You, truly did help make one of the best night of my life.”  
Gabriel hugged Connor back, his lips in a soft smile, as she shifted his masked face back fanning his eyes, “Now, now, I won’t have you getting me all sentimental and ruining my eyes, love. We have work to do, if they loved you at Bastien’s ball, then the Winter Palace doesn’t know what’s coming for them.”  
Cullen stepped up and shook Gabriel’s hand, “Well, I guess I might as well go along with this. I am a bit ragged, and do need a shave and haircut.”  
Gabriel practically squealed in delight, and Cullen gave am exasperated sigh. The trio set off towards the others, the Winter Palace the goal for the evening. The team of artistes held nothing back, scrubbing, tweezing, shaving, and waxing all members of the Inquisition. Sera sprinting away bare-arsed when Clarice suggested cutting her hair.   
Dorian made comments on how that this is the treatment he deserved after going around the countryside slaying fiends and villains. Josephine and Vivienne agreed with Dorian, both taking in the simple pleasure of lavish pampering. Cullen, Cassandra, Varric, and Solas tried their best to hide their chagrin, only lasting until they tried to put Cassandra in a dress.   
Cassandra made it very clear that she would not be wearing a dress, and there was no way in all Thedas, that they could get her into one alive.  
“Alive Seeker,” snarked Varric, “Mafarath’s balls, even dead you would come back and be buried in armor.”  
Cassandra smirked coyly, “For once Varric, I believe you do not exaggerate.”  
In the end, Tatianna and Clarice conceded, changing Cassandra’s wardrobe. The Inquisition was going to be dressed in jet black silks and velvet, gold, and ivory white. Everyone dressed in outfits that fit their figure: Bull was dressed in a black military suit with golden aglets, and filigree, even his eyepatch was gold. The back of his coat blazoned the sigil of the Inquisition. Dorian was in a hooded Tevinter coat, his sleeves adorned with coiling golden serpents. Vivienne dressed to impress, her horned headdress black drake bones with mother of pearl and gold, her enchanter’s coat fastened with lace and buckles, her back exposed.   
Varric was dressed in a formal dress coat, with a split tail. His dress shirt white and unbuttoned revealing a small patch of chest hair. Black pants and boots finished his outfit, all it gilded and pressed. The Dwarven rogue giving Clarice a seductive glance as she finished the adjustments of the inseam of his trousers. Clarice blushing heavily.  
Cole was confused as to why he must dress so, but saw the earnest and kind intent of the stylists. He sat by as they put him in a simple Mandarin collared shirt, with a grey suit jacket with split coattails. The fasteners the sign of the inquisition. Cole smiled happily when Gabriel returned his hat, replacing the leather, and polishing the metal  
Solas smirked as he came into view of the other, he was dressed in a deep jet colored ensemble. His tunic was jet black and covered in Elvish script in gold. Golden sashes wrapped around one shoulder, and his calves. The stylists leaving his feet bare, dressing them in Elvish leather wrappings made of dyed Wyvern hide.  
“I am impressed, Solas,” complimented Vivienne with surprise, “I would not think that one of your nature would be so apt for this occasion.”  
“Of what nature is that Madam De Fer, the nature of an Elven apostate, or one of an Elf in general. I am going to Hilamshiral, and I do know what is expected. I do believe that if we are to play this ‘game’ that you Orlesian so claim, that we must, how do I put it, blend in, but I am sure you knew this already,” remarked Solas coolly, sitting in the foyer waiting for his companions.  
“I do hope that you keep that wit and glib tongue about you, Hilamshiral is no friend to those without one,” snipped Vivienne reclining in a plush sofa, “Oh, and do try not to play your stature, you may not consider yourself one of the ‘people’, but Orlais will not see you as such. Keep that misconception about your wits.”  
“Oi Viv, Solas,” piped Sera walking up, “both of you need to get it together.”  
The group in the room stood shocked, Sera lecturing Solas and Vivienne on composure.  
“Yeah, miss prissy and egg head, cool off. I am here dressed in gloves, a hat so feathered it could be considered a bird, and…and…what the hell is this get up?” inquired Sera.  
“That is sleeveless, short dress and tights, and if I am not mistaken ruffles and a frill,” smirked Dorian.  
“Yeah that shite,” remarked Sera, “why do you know so much about—you know what—I don’t want to know. My point is, if I am gonna suffer, you all need to be perfect otherwise you are gonna spend the rest of this war with earwigs scrawling over your smalls.”  
Sera sat down, glumly as Solas and Vivienne looked on stunned. Sera angrily shifting trying to sit comfortably in the stiff fabric.  
“Lady ambassador, how did your stylist manage to catch her, Sera is frocked like a golden peacock,” smirked Blackwall leading Josephine in to the foyer by the arm. He was dressed in a formal dress doublet. It had golden sigil of the wardens on either shoulder, decorative shimmering mail adorned his sides. Josephine was in an elegant crème gown, with shimmering jet gloves, with a velvet shoulder cape.  
“Sera you look—”  
“Shut it warden,” bit Sera angrily, “One comment and I will dress you in this hat. Got plenty of feathers mister regal, can dress you as a griffon.”  
Blackwall raised his hands in surrender, and Josephine smirked, laughing lightly, “Sera thank you, I know that this is less than ideal, but It is only for one night. Also, I may or may not have a list of nobles that I need you to see here after the Winter Palace, they need to be humbled.”  
“Wait our Lady ambassador is going into open war,” smirked Bull.  
“Never,” replied Josephine coyly, “I have tried diplomacy of nobility, but I do believe ‘Red Jenny’ has diplomatic standing of their own.” Sera smiled Devilishly, and subtly checked her attire for hidden flasks and jars of bugs.  
“Now that’s the Josie I know,” called Leliana walking in with Cassandra. She was dressed in white double-breasted military suit, all ivory with gold filigree, topped with a Deep black collared cape. “Should I grab a ball of twine, and a meter stick.”  
Josephine quickly ran up taking Leliana’s hands, “Don’t you dare, you know that we still can’t go back to that chanter’s board. Maker please not at the Palace.”  
“I was only kidding Josie,” smiled Leliana.  
“Alright we are still waiting on our Commander and the Inquisitor. Can they take any longer?” groaned Cassandra.   
“Well, well, Seeker, that look actually suits you, formal Suit, black and white, golden Chantry sunburst. Maker they even got you into a golden waits sash, and is that a train from your coat?” teased Varric.   
“I should have left you in chains,” groaned Cassandra, resting her forehead in her palm, “this is the closest to a dress they are going to get.”  
The entourage laughed, making idle chatter as time passed. Finally, Connor and Cullen entered the room. The Commander smiled sheepishly as he walked Connor in by hand. Cullen was dressed princely, his hair slicked back, freshly shaven. His hands gloved in white silk with a golden sword at his side. A black shoulder cape with the Inquisition’s sigil stood out against his double buttoned tailcoat. Connor smiled, as he entered, he was dressed in deep obsidian mage coat. The coat splitting into three tails. Leather belts wrapped around his waist. The symbol of the mages burned bright on the black leather gloves. His chest emblazoned with the sigil of the Inquisition. His hair was styled back, opening his face, clean and bright, his eyes shimmering, and his tattoo deep and dark. A shimmering black cloak shifted around his shoulders with a fastener in the shape of the dragon. The cloak shifted between metallic gold and smoke, almost incorporeal.  
Dorian and Bull stepped up and greeted the pair.  
“Lookin’ real good, Boss. Damn Connor,” smiled Bull.  
Connor smiled, blushing deeply. He punched Bull gently in the shoulder, “Aww…thank you Bull, you are not too shabby yourself.”  
Dorian gave Connor an investigative look, staring him up and down disapprovingly, “Well, if you were going for shimmering, flagrant, heretical, Mage slattern…I’d say you accomplished your goal.”  
Connor smirked impishly, leaning deeply into Dorian’s face, “Who says I’m not?” The young Archon giving his friend a wink.  
Dorian smiled and his façade fell; he stepped forwards and hugged Connor, “It is an absolutely perfect ensemble my dear, Orlais eat your heart out.”  
“I know right,” agreed Connor, “Gabriel worked on this with me, we really wanted to sell the Sorcerer look.”  
“Fantastic,” cheered Dorian taking Connor’s other hand, “now, let’s go scandalize some prickish Orlesian nobles.” Dorian leaned whispering to Connor, “And you possibly bed the Commander.”  
Connor flushed a deep red, and Bull stepped up, “Seriously Boss…how is that cloak staying up? It looks like smoke and not smoke.”  
“Fucking magic Bull, weird fashion magic.”  
“Hot Boss. Freaky, but hot.”  
“Now come on, Inquisition,” called Josephine placing on an elegant porcelain mask, “We have an Empire to save.”


	18. Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts: Part two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the long awaited chapter, Connor and the members of the Inquisition move onto the Winter Palace. They will play the game, and see a familiar face from the past. Connor shows his skill at the game, and this is the precursor to the possible murder at court.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone,   
> I am so sorry for the delay. University is literally kicking my ass. I hope that you all don't mind. I hope that I can type maybe one more chapter before the end of Winter holiday. Wishing you all well, and happy Holidays, with love,  
> always,  
> Connor.

Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts   
Part Two  
Shimmering light filled the sky as the sun set on the Winter Palace. The evening light refracting on the gilded splendor. Glinting stars illuminated the darkening sky, and the torches of the palace gave off a warm glow. Connor sat patiently as the Inquisition’s caravan marched its way to Celene’s gala.  
“What do we know about Duke Gaspard, other than we are using him as our in to this event,” inquired Connor.  
Cullen responded, “The man who would have been emperor, he’s Celene’s cousin, and was first in line to the throne when Emperor Florian died. Celene outmaneuvered him, she won over the Council of Heralds, who hold authority over title disputes. She became Empress, and He a general in the Imperial army, he is also well loved by his troops.”  
Members of the inner circle nodded.  
“He’s also a chevalier, and most of their numbers sided with him when he turned on the empress. Chevalier see Celene as antimilitary, and believe that Gaspard could lead the empire back to the glory of Drakon’s expansion years. Also, if I may be honest, I do not trust him, he could be a potential threat to Ferelden, he wants to march, and now the country is at its weakest.”  
“Commander,” chided Leliana, “He is a military man, would you not favor him over the spies of Briala, or Celene herself?”  
“No, I wouldn’t. He poses to much of a threat to not only the inquisition, but to Ferelden as well. Honestly Celene would probably be our best bet. She need the inquisition more than we need her, and she also wants to preserve the peace between the two countries which is what is going to be needed to survive and rebuild after we face Corypheus.”  
“Then, would it not be pertinent to have Gaspard rule, he overlooks the court, so it would be much easier to place spies and sympathizers in their midst. Though, I do see your concern, he is a loose cannon, he can be both a threat to Orlais and Ferelden,” sighed Leliana as she sent a raven loose from horseback.  
“Commander, Leliana, would it not be wise to have Ambassador Briala be a power available? There is the situation of her rumored affair with Celene, but she has the ability to move where others cannot. She is aware of how labels limit one, and by having her reconcile with Celene we could have her, and her network of spies, work with the royal court, and the Inquisition,” implied Josephine.  
“Ambassador in name only,” remarked Leliana, “She has organized the elves of Halamshiral into an underground army. Empress Celene invited her to the peace talks in a bid to gain he Elves’ alliance in the war. Though this is a minor scandal in the scheme of the rumors about Briala and Celene. The rumor being that Briala is Celene’s jilted lover. She could be quite dangerous, a personal grudge against the throne and a network of saboteurs under her command? A promising lead, but a dangerous choice.”  
“Wait,” stuttered Connor, “the Elven ambassador is a jilted lover of Celene’s?”  
“Well this is just a rumor that was tossed around the servants of Halamshiral about a year ago. Though this is just in rumor, I have no means to prove this true,” answered Leliana, “So Inquisitor, to whom should we show our support?”  
Connor sighed and rolled his eyes, “They all have their positive and negative qualities…this is going to be a pain in the ass. I know definitely not Gaspard. I don’t care if the Maker himself descended, right now, with Andraste at his side, haloed in holy light, and told me to trust him. Nope, I wouldn’t do it.”  
Sera cackled loudly, and Cullen and Josephine smirked quietly.  
“As for the rest, I would have to put my support in both Celene and Briala. Hopefully there is some stock in their affair, and we can reconcile them. That way we can have the best of their qualities as they keep each other in check. Unfortunately, that is probably going to require snooping.”  
Cullen snorted and remarked, “Well look at us, we haven’t even been there five minutes and we’re already contemplating felonies. Also with Gaspard’s and Celene’s armies entrenched, we cannot openly march troops into the palace.”  
Leliana smirked, “That is why I took the liberty of having my agents ensure your soldiers get inside, but it will be a few at a time, to avoid attention.”  
The entourage marched on towards Halamshiral, the plan coming together as every moment ticked by. Connor hoped to himself that they would make it in time; that they were not already too late.  
…  
Connor arrived, heralded in by the honor guard of the inquisition. The crowds of Orlesian nobility standing stunned at his appearance, and by his bold move as a guest of Duke Gaspard. The latter of which walked up to great his guest of honor.  
“Inquisitor Trevelyan!” exclaimed Gaspard with his thickly accented speech, “It is an honor to meet you at last. The rumors coming out of the Wester Approach say you battled an army of demons. Imagine what the Inquisition could accomplish with the full support of the rightful Emperor of Orlais!”  
Connor smiled slyly, nodding his head, “I can see many benefits to such an alliance. Duke or should I say rightfully, Emperor Gaspard.”  
Dorian leaned in between Josephine, Cullen, and Sera, “Well, well, well, it seems our illustrious leader still remembers how to play this game. He is quite good, you need watch yourself commander, he may just talk you out of that attire at the dance floor if he keeps up this act.” Dorian scoffed playfully as he watched on.  
The elder Orlesian man smiled assuredly under his glinting golden mask, “Keep the image firmly in mind. We may see it materialize by the end of the evening. I am not a man who forgets his friends, Inquisitor. You help me, I’ll help you.  
Duke Gaspard lead Connor to the base of a fountain, gesturing to the palace, “Prepared to shock the assembly by appearing as the guest of a hateful usurper, my Lord? They will be telling stories of this, well into the next age.”  
“I can’t imagine that crowd has seen anything better than us in their entire lives,” Connor replied, taking a flute of champagne from a passing servant.  
Gaspard chuckled a bit and nodded, “I knew that we would get along famously Inquisitor. As a friend perhaps there is a matter you could undertake this evening? This Elven woman, Briala—I suspect that she intends to disrupt the negotiations. My people have found these ‘ambassadors’ all over the fortifications. Sabotage seems the least of their crimes.”  
Connor grimaced for a moment, thankful for the champagne, he could use it to hide his face, and he was going to need it. It was going to be a long night. “I do hope there’s more to go on besides the ‘Elves were acting dodgy.’ But, I digress, I will see what I can find out this evening.”  
Gaspard leaned in close, his steely eyes piercing through the mask, “Be as, discreet, as possible. I detest the Game, but if we do not play it well, our enemies will make us look like villains.” Gaspard took a moment of repose to straighten his war medallion, over his ornamental masquerade armor. “We’re keeping the court waiting, Inquisitor, shall we?”  
…  
Cullen watched on a he and the others were lead into Hilamshiral after Connor. He was a bit shocked himself how easily Connor conducted himself in the presence of Gaspard. How, almost perfectly pristine his composure was. The way that he could so seamlessly insert and remove himself from conversations with passing nobles.   
“Pst, Commander jackboot,” whispered Sera, “I can’t believe I have to tell you this but loosen up. You look like you’re about to punch some people…wait…actually do that please these rich tits need a good knockin’.”  
“How does Connor do it,” asked Cullen, “how does he just slide so comfortably in with them.”  
“Beats me,” sighed Sera, pocketing a few small cakes, and releasing a small jar of earwigs in the direction of an obnoxious party.  
Bull stepped up, taking care to avoid the earwigs, “To answer that, look at him. His smile, his cheeks are pulled tight. His eyes show concern, but he is looking everyone he sees over, from head to toe. His posture is measured, not as free, but it is cordial and inviting. He is lying, right to their faces. He has no interest, he is just doing what he knows will earn him favor. Just saying, besides we all know that he is far too much of an introvert for parties like this,”  
The inquisition watched on as Connor moved through the crowds being lead into the grand hall.  
Josephine gathered everyone out of sight of the nobility, “Everyone please, if you have a moment. I must warn you before you go inside: how you speak to the court is a matter of life and death. It is no simple matter of etiquette and protocol. Every word, every gesture is measured and evaluated for weakness. The game is like Wicked Grace played to the death. You must never reveal your cards”  
Cullen sighed heavily, this was going to be an even longer night that he thought possible. He could feel the beginnings of a headache forming, and somehow the dull ache was preferable to the flock of people gawking at himself, and his companions.  
…  
“And now, presenting:” called a herald, “Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons, and accompanying him, Lord Inquisitor Connor Michael Trevelyan, son of Bann Trevelyan of Ostewick, Archon of the Ostewick Circle of Magi, the Herald of Andraste, and the Grand Magus of Thedas. Vanquisher of the rebel mages of Ferelden, Crusher of the vile apostates of the mage underground, champion of the blessed Andraste herself.”  
“Varric sniggered to Blackwall under his breath as Connor bowed to the court, “Can you believe this guy, he writes better fiction than I do.”  
“Accompanying the Inquisitor, Seeker Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena—”  
“Get on with it,” snipped Cassandra as she hurried past the herald.  
“Remember to smile, my dear,” added Vivienne with a wave, “it is all for show.”  
“Pentaghast. Fourteenth cousin to the King of Nevarra, nine times removed. Hero of Orlais, and right hand of the Divine. Renowned author Varric Tethras, head of noble House Tethras, Deshyr of Kirkwall to the Dwarven Merchants Guild. Lord Dorian Pavus, Member of the Circle of Vyrantium.”  
“Let’s see how many gasps I can count when they realize that I am from Tevinter,” snarked Dorian with a grandiose bow.  
“Son of Lord Magister Halward Pavus of Asariel.”  
“Over fifty,” smirked Solas, “But I am apparently an Elven servant of the Inquisition.”  
“Ser Cullen Stanton Rutherford of Honnleath, Commander of the forces of the Inquisition, former Knight-Commander of Kirkwall, Lady Leliana, Nightingale of the Imperial Court, Veteran of the Fifth Blight, and Lady Josephine Cherette Montilyet of Antiva City, Ambassador of the Inquisition.  
“Madame Vivienne, First enchanter of the circle of Magi, Enchanter of the Imperial Court, Mistress of the late Duke of Ghislain. The Iron Bull, Leader of the famed mercenary company Bull’s chargers. As the name might imply. And lastly, Her Ladyship Mai Bhalsych of Korse.”  
Connor choked subtly on his champagne, and he could hear Sera faintly sniggering in the distance. The young Mage relinquished his drink and moved to address Empress Celene. She was dressed in deep blue satin and silk, a gilded white gold mask adored her face, as a golden lion plume shielded her back, fanning out, reminiscent of a halo. Connor bowed before the Empress, and Gaspard called out his taunts and demands for the evening. Celene acknowledged them in her grace, and beckoned for the beginning of the peace talks.  
Gaspard walked away, cussing under his breath, as Celene turned to Connor, “Lord Inquisitor, we welcome you to the Winter Palace. Allow us to present our cousin, the Grand Duchess of Lydes, without whom this gathering would never have been possible.”  
Another gilded royal smiled behind a mask, her pale blonde hair sheered short and styled almost militaristically out of the way, “What an unexpected pleasure. I was not aware the Inquisition would be apart of our festivities. We will certainly speak later, Inquisitor.” The Duchess then turned and left.  
“Your arrival at court is like a cool wind on a summer’s day,” chimed Celene.  
“Then let’s hope the breeze does not herald an oncoming storm,” countered Connor as he gestured to the room.  
Celene smiled, “Even the wisest mistake fair winds for foul. We are at the mercy of the skies, Inquisitor. How do you find Halamshiral?”  
Connor smiled and glanced at the building, “Well it seems just as big, if not bigger, then when I was here for your coronation when I was five. It has been quite some time, but the beauty of the palace never fades, I have no word for their justice.”  
“Enjoy the ballroom, Inquisitor,” said Celene taking her leave, “We look forward to watching you dance.”  
…  
Hours ticked by, and the talks raged on. Connor had received news of a new imperial enchanter working in the court from Leliana. She was an Apostate who charmed the empress and key members of the court as if by magic, and she was now functioning directly as Celene’s “occult advisor.” Connor headed this as he was working on speaking and reconnaissance, as other members of the inner circle did the same. Cullen found himself, unfortunately stuck in the ballroom.   
Cullen hated, absolutely hated this evening, and everything involved. He made it a point to keep his distance from the crowds of nobles, but they raced ravenously at him the moment they saw him and flocked to his side, asking all sorts of invasive questions. It was grating on his patients.  
The female nobility often trifled with him, philandering and would find some excuse to grasp at him in his regal attire, all in some feeble attempt to court him. The others would stare longingly at a distance, flushing deep shades of crimson and hiding behind their fans. Others were brazened enough to have tried their luck and slapped his ass.   
Cullen, was seething, and thoroughly riled. He Hated Orlais  
The harassment and assaults only worsened when Connor disappeared into the Servant’s Quarters to follow a lead. Cullen only had brief moments of respite from the constant flirting and scrutiny when Connor would walk by. He found that if he was quick enough he could slip away and try to receive report. Though sometimes, Connor would make an appearance or linger with a noble and Cullen would just watch him, taking in all that he could. It was so rare that Connor got to drift back into a semblance of his familial life, even if it was to act a part, Cullen knew that Connor missed the simplicity of it all.   
Cullen shook his head as he dismissed the thought. He needed to focus for the moment and thinking about his Dragon was not helping matters.  
At some point, men began to flirt with the Commander as well, this was probably due to the astounding amount of alcohol consumed, and he cussed under his breath as they conversed, aloud and quite blatantly over how he would look with his face red for different reasons, and his attire on the floor. Cullen found himself debating Sera’s idea of planting his fist into their faces.  
Suddenly several of the personages turned. “Ah! Lady Mai Bhalsych of Korse,” chirped out one of the masked women, “I have so wanted to speak with you, I have heard so much about your lineage and—”  
“I am here for Lionheart,” teased Sera in a terribly stuffy Orlesian accent, “so unless one of you thinks you’re more worth my time, SCRAM” Sera grabbed Cullen’s hand and sped him out of the throng of people.  
“MAI—Sera,” groaned Cullen, tired from the evening, “why are you running us away, this is breaking our act.”  
Sera hid them out on a balcony, as she peered in through the windows, “Nope, they will only remember this in five…four…three…two…and—”  
There were shrieks from the ballroom as noble tripped on themselves spilling their drinks and food. Sera was cackling heavily, and Cullen was laughing as well. This was a highlight of his night.  
“That is why we ran jackboot,” snorted Sera, “I snuck a few beetle bombs into the ruffles of her dress and wig. BOOM bugs everywhere. The rich bitch was a target from the Jennies, and they needed her knocked down a peg or two, nothing serious just something for that ego of hers. Blah blah blah she just couldn’t shut up about how great she was, even though her servants do all the heavy lifting. So, earwigs and beetles it is then.”   
“Maker bless you for your help Lady Bhalsych of Korse,” laughed Cullen, I am forever in your debt.” Cullen felt a hand on his shoulder, and heard a voice asking him for a dance. His response left his mouth before he saw who it was.  
Connor.  
The young Mage looked on disheartened by the forwardness of Cullen’s response. The elder of the pair taken aback by the shock of snipping at his love.   
“Oh…uhh…Connor I am sorry,” stuttered Cullen trying to recover from his slip, “I didn’t—I mean—Maker preserve me, I would love to dance with you, would you—”  
“I was asking for later Cul,” laughed Connor quietly. Connor rested his hand gently on Cullen’s cheek, his thumb on his scar, “We’ve a country to save, some ass to kick, and some noble to flee.”  
Cullen leaned in and gave him a light peck before pulling away, all the while Sera ogling the pair in the background. Connor leaned in, and kissed his cheek before hugging him.   
“Cul, keep safe okay. There are vipers a plenty, and I am gonna try something slightly dangerous.” Cullen stepped back as Connor pulled out a locket from his jacket pocket, his knight enchanter blade hilt, fastened inside his coat.   
“An Elven locket,” teased Cullen, “Did Solas give you this idea for a romantic gesture to me?”  
“Oh hush, the locket belonged to Briala, but guess where I found it. In a locked hidden vault in the royal quarters of Celene herself. Apparently, there is some stock in the rumors of Celene and Briala being lovers, jilted ever more so.” Connor pocketed the locket once more. “I am gonna try and reconcile the pair, but I want you to keep an eye out for Gaspard, I think he has men here, there was a dead councilman in the gardens with Gaspard’s knife in his back.”  
“Connor are you sure this is safe, things seem to be getting more dangerous. Even the royal guards are tense and hiding things.”  
“Yes, but we have to keep pressing on. We cannot let Orlais fall.”  
Cullen nodded, and turned to Sera, “Lady Mai, see what your people can gather from the gossip around the palace, nobody ever suspects the masses to play the Game.”  
Sera grinned wildly in a manner befitting a mischievous child, before darting off, her plume bouncing through the crowds wildly. Connor and Cullen sighed, giving one another an exasperated glance before re-entering the chaos of the Masquerade.  
…  
“Well, well, what have we here?” called a voice languid like honey, “The leader of the new Inquisition, fabled herald of the faith. Delivered from the grasp of the Fade by the hand of Blessed Andraste herself. What could bring such an exalted creature here to the imperial court, I wonder? Do even you know?”  
Connor sighed and turned, before smiling, “We may never know. Courtly intrigues and all that. Evening Lady Morrigan, how good to see you.” Connor gave a slight bow, and walked away with the enchantress. Leading her to meet with Leliana. The nightingale smirked knowingly, as the two approached.   
“Let’s see dark red or a burgundy wine coloured gown, golden details and hanging pendant, a very deep low neckline, and hair pinned up to expose neck and face. Seems like someone took my advice to heart.”  
Morrigan grimaced, rolling her eyes as Leliana scrutinized her appearance. Connor smirking.   
Connor laughed, leaning on the railing of the balcony, “I mean, if I suddenly found myself a member of the Orlesian Court, I would think following the fashion advice of a former Orlesian bard would seem a good plan.”   
Leliana leaned in with an impish grin, “I seem to recall you saying, ‘I would soon let Alistair dress me’ though, I could be mistaken?”  
Morrigan’s face fell, her good humour fading away. “Blasted damnation—tis’ it much to ask you to be elsewhere, anywhere but here,” sighed the witch with resignation.  
The trio talked on, speaking of the roles of the evening, and the powers that were at play. Connor sighed again. This was going to be a long evening.


End file.
